


I Want to Get Better

by WillowPerpetua



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Infinity Gems, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Past Brainwashing, post-CATWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finds Steve and begins the search for his memories.<br/>The work to recover Bucky's mind is complicated by Steve's full-time occupation as a superhero and their attraction to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_The Soldier_

     The Winter Soldier slouched toward the church through the early morning fog. In the light of the sunrise, the metal of his shoulder glinted along with his eyes. He was alight with the momentum of the mission. It was beyond duty, it was something personal. He would not fail again. He knew his surroundings from each of his senses, felt the sweltering heat and humidity already clinging to his skin, heard the tires meeting the pavement of a nearby parking lot, the birds in the tree next to the building to his left, a tributary making its lazy way behind the scene on its way to meet the Potomac. He tasted it, he smelled it, he did not need to see it.

     Instead of the scene before him, The Winter Soldier saw only his target. He pictured the face as he had last seen it, on the bank of the river, dazed. He saw that face in his mind as clearly as he saw the doors of the church as he passed through them. He imagined the curve of that jaw, the angle of his parted lips, the line of his nose, as he followed a hallway to an unoccupied room full of extra chairs, choir robes, and broken furniture.This is where he would wait.

     Obsession drove The Winter Soldier in a way that few people on earth will ever have the misfortune of knowing firsthand. At this moment, his body was at rest, hidden in a room of unused relics, collecting dust. His mind was another matter. It had not slowed since its first encounter with the target. It had not once rested since he made contact. The Soldier sat, hunched forward, one hand on each knee, contemplating the way the target had said one word.

     “Bucky.” His head jerked up in recognition. For a moment, he could not tell if the sound came from an outside source or if he had begun hearing things again. He dreaded reporting hallucinations to his handlers.

     “Bucky.” There it was again, certainly not from his own mind. He turned his attention to the rest of the sound emanating from the sanctuary, where a preacher was addressing the attendees. It called him out of his waiting place. He followed the sound into the hall where the words became more distinct. A list of names. The Soldier leaned against a wall, observing the scene before him, the prayer. No one took any notice of him, too deep in their own contemplation or trying to subdue squirming children to pay any attention to a latecomer at the back of the room. Other names were read from the list, those requiring special blessings, names submitted for extra consideration. Of the heads bowed in quiet prayer, the Soldier spotted his target. This was not the place for it, he knew. Still, he ran a thumb along the handle of one of his knives almost lovingly. Attacking a national symbol in a religious institution would negate the entire point of being an invisible assassin, but sometimes he dreamed of the dramatics. He pictured the knife entering right at the base of the target’s exposed neck, severing his spinal cord. It would be so neat, so effective. No. He thought, considering again the way his target had looked at him, the way he had said that name with such reverence. He would get an answer. He would find out who the hell Bucky was, and then he would end his mission.

     At that moment, as if he had made his resolution out loud, the target raised his head and turned in his seat. The eye contact was fleeting, but unmistakable. He had been compromised. The soldier moved swiftly back to his hiding place, hoping against hope that it would be secure, or at least that the social pressure of religion would prevent his exposure. He ducked beneath a table, counting his heartbeats, slow and steady.

     “Bucky?” The voice came from outside, quiet, composed, almost conversational. The Soldier did not engage. “You don’t want to talk to me. Okay. That’s fine.” He said from the other side of the door. “I’ll talk.” Another moment of silence, The Soldier swallowed, closed his eyes. He wanted so badly to end the mission here, to take the target out and drag his limp body back to base without a single word to any of the stunned onlookers. He knew he wouldn’t get far. “You remember when I used to get pneumonia and bronchitis and I would lose my voice for weeks in the winter? I would just cough and cough for days.” He heard the target slide down the door, the weight of his body blocking him into the room. “And you wouldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours before waking up to make sure I was still breathing. You thought I didn’t know what you were doing—always just getting a glass of water—but I knew, Buck. You fought a lot of bullies for me, always picking up where I left off, but you would have fought the dark and the cold if you could have.” The Soldier smelled peppermint, waxy like cheap toothpaste. He tasted it in the dark under the table. “So I don’t care, Buck.” The voice from the other side of the door went on, a familiar stubbornness setting into it, filling the silences between the words. “I don’t care how much cold and darkness I have to fight, I am getting you back.”

     The Soldier swallowed, gasped, swallowed again. He couldn’t breathe for the smell of it, the overpowering taste of peppermint tearing up his mouth. He lay there, thinking through his conditioning, counting, stretching his fingers and toes. The door swung open, a beam of light slicing through the darkness like one of the Soldier’s knives. A team of agents in heavy armor carrying large guns swept into the room. The Soldier remained under the table, reaching for breath, wishing for air that didn’t taste like a past he couldn’t remember. The target crouched near the table, just out of arm’s reach.

     “What do you say?” A million images flashed through the Soldier’s mind at once, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Instead of the man in front of him, he saw a younger, smaller man reaching out to him. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move, and just like that, he couldn’t see anything at all.

***

_Captain America_

     It was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission, Steve reflected as he pounded his forehead against the window, looking down at the smoldering remains of an office building. The suit was already closing around Tony, Clint’s bow was drawn, and Natasha was as alert as ever. An unconscious Bucky rested in a seat on Tony’s jet, heavily restrained, both physically and chemically. The sedative from Clint’s arrow still coursing through his veins. “What do we know about this mess?” Steve asked, glancing back down at the chaos on the ground.

     “Sir,” JARVIS replied, right on cue, “it appears to be a privately owned office complex. That is all the information stored in my databank.”

     “Thanks.” Steve said.

     “Who else is seeing the neon sign that says TRAP in pretty flashing letters? Anybody?” Tony asked.

     “Obviously it’s a trap,” Natasha said, glancing over her shoulder at the Winter Soldier who showed no signs of life, “but how could he have alerted them? He’s been out cold since DC.”

     “We can figure out the details after we deal with the situation.” Cap decided. “Widow, I need you and Hawk Eye in the sky with Bucky, keep an eye on him and an eye on us. Iron Man, you ready for this?”

     Tony responded with a chuckle. “This is nothing, Cap. Give me some space monsters or a black hole or something. Let’s spice this up a little.” He said before swooping out of the jet. Steve sighed.

     “Be careful what you wish for.”

     The heat from the explosion caught him like a hard right hook the moment Steve’s feet made contact with the ground. A double-tap, he thought, pivoting to assess the scene. He should have seen it coming. An ambulance had been caught in the blast and was overturned. He headed there first, directing onlookers to safety as he went. As he approached, a stream of bullets pelted toward him. He took cover behind an abandoned station wagon, wondering where the backup he ordered could have been held up. From this vantage point, his visual wasn’t the best, but he was more or less protected. He was going to have to ditch it if he wanted to get this disaster contained. He took a deep breath and rolled from the space behind the car before sprinting toward the ambulance. The scene had changed dramatically in his few seconds behind the car. Instead of a couple of burning buildings, a few panicked pedestrians, and some unseen snipers, the street was now occupied by three armored cars, blocking his exits. So, yeah, he was starting to see that neon sign Tony had been talking about. It had Trap written all over it. Steve looked around wildly for Tony. Tony was in the sky, locked onto a helicopter. It became evident that the dance that Iron Man and the helicopter were doing was not a friendly one, and it didn’t look like it was going to be over quickly. Steve returned to the issues at hand. All of them.

     The crunch of asphalt and metal to his side made sent him into a defensive stance, ready to launch into an attack. Bucky didn’t stop to acknowledge Steve before springing into action. Though his movements were slower than they had been during his fights with Steve, the lag did not stop him from diving through the windshield of the first car as easily as if it were made of sugar, slicing through the diver’s jugular with a piece of the shattered glass. Steve watched, feeling just like he had the time when he and Bucky went to the circus when they were kids—amazed and awestruck and like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Then he remembered that there were two other cars full of people with guns aimed at him and the matter of what to do became crystal clear. With Bucky on the ground, it ceased to matter how big the catastrophe was. It was ready for the clean-up crew by the time Tony had finished dismantling the helicopter.

     “I was supposed to take you out.” The Soldier said simply, laying the gun down at Steve’s feet.

     “So why didn’t you?” Steve asked, staring at the gun, at Bucky’s empty hands hanging at his sides, finally at his eyes which met Steve’s without a trace of deception.

     “All those things you said to me,” he said, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, “I don’t remember them.” Steve felt the weight of the words sink heavy in his chest. “I want to.” The Soldier said, “I want to get better.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier moves into Steve's apartment against the rest of the team's better judgement.   
> Steve helps Bucky through a panic attack.

_Steve_

     “Steve,” Natasha said, leaning against the doorway to his apartment and holding her arm out to barricade the entrance, “I am telling you again that this scheme of yours is going to come with a long job description.”

     “I am prepared for that.” He said, setting his bags down on the landing. “He needs somewhere to stay. His loyalty earned him that much.”

     “And it’s got to be at your place. I get that.” She said, nodding. “But this isn’t like Clint’s recalibration. You aren’t going to hit him over the head and reverse all the years of damage. It is going to take some time. It might get hostile.”

     “You were there when he tried to kill me, right? We have both seen hostile. You know I can do this.”

     “I’m not telling you anything different.” she said, indulging him in a rare smile. “I am just saying…watch your back, okay?”

     “Roger that.” Steve said, reflecting her smile. She put her arm down and moved aside. Once Steve had placed all of his bags inside the apartment, he called back to Natasha. “Widow,” She turned on the landing, “It’s good to know I’ve got another pair of eyes watching my back, too.” He said. She nodded again before disappearing down the stairs and into the evening.

     Next up were Tony, still ensconced in the suit, and Clint, flanking Bucky who wandered up the stairs with an expression of blank resignation in his eyebrows and lips. His eyes soaked up every detail of the staircase, the hallway, the door, their rapt attention allowing no detail to go unnoticed. Steve nodded his head to Clint and Tony. 

     “Thanks for making sure he got here safely.” He said.

     “It’s not his safety we are concerned about.” Tony said, eyeing the Soldier up and down. Clint said nothing but gave Steve a meaningful look that Steve did not quite know how to translate. 

     “Thanks guys. I’ve got it.” He said. Clint and Tony exchanged a look, as though they both doubted it, then turned and left Steve with his new charge. He opened the door and ushered Bucky inside.

     The apartment was a good deal larger than any he shared with Bucky in Brooklyn. It had all the usual amenities plus many that Steve had not yet come to think of as usual. He showed Bucky to the spare room—Bucky’s room now. There had been no time to prepare it. He looked around, trying to see the room from Bucky’s perspective. There was a picture of the Howling Commandos, each of them laughing or smiling. The Bucky looking out from the frame, and the Bucky standing in the room were such opposites it was hard to believe they could be the same person. Something in Steve’s mind clicked for a moment _they aren’t_. No. He couldn’t think like that. He forced himself to look away from Bucky’s smiling image back to the lost and confused Bucky standing in front of him. 

     “I’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.” He said, gesturing toward his own room. “I’m a light sleeper.” It felt so strange to tell Bucky that. 

     “Okay.” Bucky said. That was all he said.

 ***

_The Soldier_

     The Soldier sat alone in the guest room of his target’s apartment. He was a coiled snake.   
     The sedative from the archer’s arrow still slowed his mind, but it was nothing compared to the usual procedures at HYRDA. It hadn’t stopped him from taking out a car full of allies earlier that afternoon. He was going to have trouble explaining that one to his superiors. Under-cover work was strictly forbidden, and what he was attempting to do was as deeply under-cover as it was possible to go. In order for this to work, he was going to have to become Bucky. The Soldier would have to die. He made peace with this, tracing his metal fingers along the details of the face in the picture on his bedside table. It was his face and it was not his face. He wanted to know how it was possible. 

     The Soldier—no, Bucky, it was Bucky now—rose from the bed and crossed the room in one fluid motion. On the other side of the door, Steve was raising his hand to knock. The Soldier reacted on instinct, ducking out of the way and punching Steve hard in the abdomen. Steve retreated a few paces down the hallway, hands up.

     “Bucky, you okay?” He asked.Bucky’s heart was pounding in his ears. He would be okay if he could continue punching his target until there was nothing left but some blood stains, but that wasn’t Bucky. That was The Soldier.

     “I’m sorry. You startled me.” He said, avoiding the question instead.

     “Don’t worry about it.” Steve shrugged it off. “I was going to see if you were hungry.” The question was foreign to the Solider. He ate when his body demanded it or when he was told to, but never when someone else asked. It took him a moment to respond. “Or I could just get myself something” Steve started at Bucky’s silence

     “No. I could eat.” Bucky said.

     “Good. I’ll order pizza.” 

     Steve met the delivery boy on the landing instead of letting him ring the bell. Bucky was being kept under maximum Captain America security, then, he mused, while the cheese from the pizza burned his mouth. He ate anyway, feeling the grease drip down his chin. Steve watched him like he couldn’t believe he was real. 

     “I’m sure you have questions.” Steve said. “You don’t have to start right away, but whenever you’re ready, we can talk.” 

     Bucky continued to chew his pizza. There was a knock at the door. When Steve answered it, The Soldier recognized the pilot who had fought alongside the target. The one whose wings he had destroyed. He regretted that. The wings were beautiful. The newcomer’s eyes widened in surprise when he recognized Bucky. “You mind telling me what he’s doing sitting at your table eating pizza?” He asked.

     “Exactly what it looks like. He’s eating pizza.” Steve replied, as nonchalantly as the situation allowed. “Bucky, this is Sam. Sam, this is Bucky.”

     “Yeah.” Sam said, eyeing Bucky wearily “Last time we were introduced it wasn’t quite so chummy.” 

     “I know.” Bucky said. 

     “We okay now?” Sam asked. 

     “I think so.” Bucky said. 

     “Good enough for now.” Sam said, sliding into a seat and taking a piece of pizza. The evening passed in relative comfort. He and Sam drank a couple of beers that had been sitting in Steve’s refrigerator from the last time he had stopped by for a visit. They passed the time talking about mostly nothing. It was a refreshing kind of company, free of prying questions or overly attentive looks. Sam left shortly after midnight, satisfied that Bucky was docile enough for Steve to handle alone.

     It had become a longer day than Bucky bargained for. By the time he collapsed in bed, wearing a spare tee-shirt and pair of Steve’s boxers, his brain became blissfully blank within moments. It left him no time to sift through the disloyalty and betrayal that he was currently enacting without orders. The thoughts found him in his nightmares instead.  
He saw needles, faceless men holding him down, tanks as large as he was full of ice cold liquid that filled his lungs and pulled him down. He saw Steve’s small, fragile body lying on the gravel in an ally, bloody and pale. He heard a soothing voice speaking to him in Russian telling him that he had been abandoned, but that he was safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen to him.

     He woke drenched in sweat, shaking, tearing the sheets off of himself. The panic built, with nowhere for it to escape. He had done the wrong thing in coming here. He couldn’t pull this off. There would be a high price to pay for such insubordination. He would be deactivated. It built and built, the fear boiling in his stomach, burning in his chest and throat. He ran to the bathroom, spilling the contents of his stomach into the toilet not a moment too soon. He heaved and retched for what seemed like forever.   
A hand pulled his hair back from his face while another stroked his back gently.

     “Sssh. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” The voice came from right behind him, just above a whisper. It might have been a dream, but Bucky could have sworn that he remembered saying the exact same words to a gasping boy a lifetime ago. “You’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna get better. I’ve got you.” 

     Eventually, he settled back on his haunches and leaned against Steve’s leg. It was sturdy and held him up so well he imagined he could have slept through the rest of the night right there. A moment later he was nodding off. He felt Steve hoist him to his feet, dragging him back to bed.

     Somehow, he ended up nestled in bed next to Steve with a bottle of water on the bedside table. It had to be Steve’s room, he thought, as he looked around at 4:46A.M. because Steve had an alarm clock and Bucky’s room did not. The macabre picture of the Real Bucky smiling was also mercifully absent and somehow this factor was enough to let Bucky go back to sleep, smelling the faintest trace of peppermint toothpaste on Steve’s breath.

 

_Steve_

     Steve awoke slowly, feeling the cadence of breath against his neck lulling him into the world in a gentle way. He opened his eyes, staring at his bedroom celling. Bucky’s metal arm was curled around Steve, holding onto him tightly. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go. He looked at Bucky, finally peaceful after a long night of shaking and whimpering. Even after Steve had moved him into his room and talked him through the nightmare, he still slept badly.   
Bucky’s eyes fluttered open. He smiled.

     “Steve?” He asked still groggy. “What are you doing in my bunk?”

     “Buck, you’re—“ Steve started, but the ice had already filled Bucky’s eyes. The revelation dawning on him that they were in a bed, not a bunk. There was more to it, Steve could tell. The mask sliding into place where Bucky had been for just a moment.

     “Oh.” Bucky said.

     “Yeah.” The pause stretched on between them. “Good morning.” Steve said, feeling the warmth radiating from Bucky’s arm retract as he pulled away. “It wasn’t an easy night, but you made it.”

     “It wasn’t the worst night I’ve had.” Bucky said, swinging his legs over the side of Steve’s bed. Steve put his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, the way Bucky had done for him so many times when they were younger, when Steve had been the one having bad nights. 

     “Come on.” He said. “I’ll make breakfast.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex!  
> When the pressure of discussing Bucky's memory loss gets stressful, Steve and Bucky create some new memories instead.

_Steve_

Bacon and eggs sizzled in the pan while Bucky leaned on the table, rubbing his eyes.

“You think of anything you want to go over today?”

“Not especially.” Bucky said, resting his forehead on his hand.

“Look, it’s not going to be easy, Buck, but you’re going to need to meet me halfway on this. Anything you remember is good. Anything you have questions about, even. I can work with that.”

“Remembering and asking questions are not my strong suit. I’m working on it.” Bucky said. Steve set a plate loaded with breakfast down in front of Bucky. Bucky raised his eyes to meet Steve’s. “Why do I smell peppermint?”

“Right now?” Steve asked, sniffing.

“No,” Bucky said “When you talk to me, sometimes. At the church. The first time I saw you on the bridge. When they gave me your picture with my mission.” Just thinking about his mission made him feel sick. Without thinking he cracked his knuckles.

“That’s a funny one, Buck.” Steve shrugged. “I mean, scent is the strongest sense when it comes to memory. I still remember the way our apartment smelled when it rained.” Steve said. He didn’t add that he remembered the way Bucky’s pillow smelled and how he used to sleep on it when Bucky went away to basic. Steve turned away and opened the refrigerator. “You want juice?”

The day carried on. They didn’t leave the apartment, and they didn’t discuss Bucky’s past or missing memories. They watched TV, specifically the weather, because it was nonthreatening and quiet. Background noise that they could ignore while ignoring each other.

“Why won’t you talk about it?” Steve asked late that evening. The day was wearing on and wearing on his patience.

“Talk about what?” Bucky asked, staring straight ahead.

“You know what.” Steve said.

“You want me to talk about all the shit I don’t remember?” Bucky said, the words finally feeling like truth. “Fine, Steve,” He continued, feeling the dam break “I remember every person I have killed since the 1950s. I remember every bullet, every stab wound, every poisoned drink and strangled cry. I remember the explosions. I remember smothering old men in their beds. I killed a lot of people. Most of them were bad, I think.”

“That wasn’t you, Buck.” Steve said. Bucky swiped at the air as if he was brushing the words away.

“It was. And the best part is that I don’t remember what came before or after or why I did any of it—all I know is that I did it. I know that I killed all those people and I know that I felt just fine about it.” He took a moment to breath in the truth of it. The words were out, hanging in the silence and he wouldn’t take them back if he could. There was a freedom in saying it. The quiet hung between them, Steve’s face set in a mask of stony calm. “Well?” Bucky asked, “Does that shock you?” Steve’s features softened, his eyes taking in the shell of his friend. It was nothing he didn’t already know.

“We’re soldiers, Bucky.” Steve said, placing his hand on Bucky’s. He touched the flesh of Bucky’s hand, not his metal one. “I stormed HYDRA to get you out. I don’t know how many men I killed doing it, but I know I would do it again. It’s not pretty. It’s not always right. It’s what we do.” Steve said.

An electricity ran between their hands. Steve had never before felt so aware of the molecules that made up the flesh of his palm in all of the places where it was now touching the back of Bucky’s hand. He looked down at the place where they touched, wondering if the increased rate of Bucky’s breathing was a bad sign. Bucky’s jaw and lips and teeth struck Steve so quickly and so fiercely that even his super soldier instincts did not have time to register the impending collision. The need and fire in the kiss was palpable. Steve melted into it, feeling like he was finally hearing the end of a sentence that started seventy years ago. For a moment, he closed his eyes, allowed himself to savor everything about it. The way Bucky’s lips felt against his own, chapped and raw and full of passion. He committed to memory the texture of stubble that scrapped across his jaw as they moved, the taste of Bucky as their tongues met for the briefest instant, and the nearly inaudible gasp as they parted.

“That’s where it came from.” Bucky said, a familiar smirk playing across his face.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Peppermint.” Bucky answered simply.

Steve couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “We haven’t…” Steve trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, before you went missing, we never…”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Bucky said. “I get the feeling I thought about it a lot, though.”

“You could have fooled me.” Steve said. There was no bitterness in his voice, it was casual. The sting of all those nights watching Bucky dance with beautiful dames while he sat by himself keeping their table occupied came rushing back. He had never begrudged Bucky his fun or his lack of interest, but it never felt very good to watch him smile in the arms of somebody else.

“Did you,” Bucky began before swallowing the question back down.

“Yes?” Steve invited him to continue.

“Did you ever want me?” Bucky asked. The way the words issued from Bucky’s lips caught Steve off guard. It was not the way Bucky would have asked that question: with an uneven smile and a heavy layer of mischief behind his eyes. He asked the question like it was the wanting that mattered. As if he had never imagined being wanted before, and suddenly it was within his reach, and he believed it was possible.

“Oh Buck” Steve said, leaning in again to press his lips against Bucky’s. It would have been impossible to convey all of the longing. The years spent shivering, hungry in an unheated apartment, knowing that he was lying next to Bucky and so it was enough. The nights alone when Bucky was away at training, feeling the pang of his absence with every gasping breath. The war, when Bucky was returned to him, knowing that he was safe in the bunk next to his, even if that safety was only guaranteed until morning. He pressed it all into the kiss. Steve’s fingers slid into Bucky’s hair, curling around his ear, pulling him closer. He angled his head farther to the side, opened his mouth a little wider, felt Bucky reciprocate the kiss.

His heartbeat so loud he thought Bucky must be able to hear it too. Bucky’s hands traveled from their place on the couch up Steve’s sides, dragging his shirt with them. Their mouths broke contact for a fleeting moment while Bucky pulled it over Steve’s head. Bucky surveyed the expanse of Steve’s chest, his abdomen, the unrestrained muscles in his arms. He bit his bottom lip, glancing back up to meet Steve’s eyes, a faint rosiness creeping into his cheeks.

“I’ve never known you to blush, Buck.” Steve said, wondering if he was seven different shades of red, himself. Bucky reattached his lips to Steve, this time finding a connection on his neck. He shifted closer on the couch, lips moving across Steve’s body, sucking, biting, leaving a train of kisses to mark his path. Steve’s breaths were shallow. Bucky’s metal hand slid the button and zipper of Steve’s pants open effortlessly. “Wait. Bucky.” Steve panted. “Hang on a sec.” Bucky’s hand stopped moving, his kisses slowing, then ceasing. He rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

“Shit. Steve, I’m—“Bucky started, not sure what he was going to say. Sorry? He wasn’t.

“Ssh, No. It’s okay.” Steve whispered, still breathing hard. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.” Steve paused for a moment, feeling the ache between his legs and the proximity of Bucky’s hand, and how much he may not want to know the answer to this question. Still, he had to make sure. “Alright with this, I mean.”

“Yes.” Bucky said, before sliding off the couch.

“Oh that’s…” Steve said, but what exactly it was, neither of them ever found out. Bucky’s mouth was warm and wet and Steve watched his cock vanish between his friend’s lips and not a million of his wildest wet dreams could have prepared him for the sheer pleasure of it. Bucky hollowed his cheeks and sucked, Steve felt himself pulled into a whirlpool. His head fell back, hands worked their way into hair, one into his own, the other into Bucky’s. He didn’t push, didn’t even guide. Just felt the instinctive rhythm which Bucky somehow understood.

“Buck. Oh Lord. Aw Shit. Bucky.” Steve tried not to move. He tried not to thrust. He failed. Just like on the battlefield, for every move that he made, Bucky had a counter. They were evenly matched, and this time, Steve didn’t mind at all. Suddenly, it stopped. The momentum that had been building, curling Steve’s toes, vanished. Bucky pulled off him swiping a thumb along his lower lip.

“Bedroom?” He asked. Steve wasn’t sure he remembered where his bedroom was, wasn’t sure he could walk there, but he nodded all the same. When they arrived at the bedroom, Steve opened the bedside table, second drawer, and retrieved a bottle of lube and a box of condoms, silently thanking himself for not throwing them away along with most of his “Modern Bachelor” gift basket from Tony. Out of nowhere, Bucky laughed.

“Shield XL. Really?” He said, eyeing the box.

“I am fully aware of the joke. I didn’t pick them out.” Steve said.

“Oh.” Bucky responded, not meeting Steve’s eye for the first time in a long time. Steve took a deep breath, and then broached the subject he had been avoiding.

“Do you remember?” Steve began. It seemed like a mood-killer, but it was the kind of thing you needed to know before jumping into bed with somebody. “Have you?”

“Yeah, Steve.” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow—there was the deviant smile Steve knew. “I’ve had sex.”

“With a man?” Steve asked, taken completely by surprise.

“A few.” Bucky shrugged. “No, don’t look so scandalized. Not all at the same time.” Steve hit him with a pillow. Suddenly, it felt like their old apartment. It felt comfortable. When their lips met again, the kiss did not have to say anything important, it just felt good. Bucky applied gentle pressure on Steve’s shoulders, lowering him onto his back. They maintained eye contact while Bucky shed his clothes and Steve discarded the layers that were hanging off of him already. They ground against each other, savoring the warmth, the smooth flesh laid out before them.Steve felt the weight of Bucky pinning him down. Bucky’s erection pressed against his hip. They only held out a minute before reaching for the condoms. Steve tore one open without looking and slid it onto Bucky, pumping him in his hand a few times for good measure. Bucky threw his head back.

“God, Steve.” He moaned. “That’s just… keep doing that for a minute. For forever.” He leaned forward again and pressed his forehead against Steve’s chest. His back arched, catlike, in the air. Bucky bit Steve’s nipple lightly. “Never mind.” He said. “I have other ideas.” He climbed further up Steve’s body, to the juncture where his earlobe met his neck, and swept his tongue along the crease there.

“Mmm, Bucky.” Steve said. “So glad I remembered to wash behind my ears this morning.” Bucky flicked his tongue again and left Steve speechless. Meanwhile, his hands were working to apply a generous amount of lube to each other and the crevasse of Steve’s ass. He worked one finger inside the tight ring of muscle there, feeling Steve tense up for a moment.

“Remember?” Bucky whispered in Steve’s ear. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He felt Steve melt into his words. Two fingers found their way into Steve, earning a cry of mixed surprise and delight after Bucky changed angles. Bucky brushed against the bud of nerves again. Steve reached up to clasp his hands around the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Please.” He choked out. “I want…” Bucky nodded, pressed a heavy kiss to Steve’s lips, and slid inside. They lay together, motionless, feeling complete for the first time since seven decades of their lives went missing. Their breaths came in waves together, their eyes locked on each other. It was not until Steve gave an abrupt nod of his head that Bucky remembered he could move.

Bucky took it slow. Steve did not. Steve rolled his hips, taking more and more of Bucky in. He directed their movement. Bucky was along for the ride. Bucky began thrusting in earnest, trying to keep up with Steve, the bed creaking with the doubled efforts of its occupants. Steve couldn’t have guessed if he smiled first or if Bucky had, but they smiled into the kisses, between the moans and the grunts, through the gasps and the sighs. Bucky arched his back and hit Steve just right. Steve saw fireworks behind his eyes. He bit into the soft flesh of Bucky’s shoulder and felt Bucky grab his hair in retaliation. Bucky pulled him back, exposing his neck, licking a long stripe from his adam’s apple to his lips.

“There, Buck. Right—oh!” Steve said, as Bucky pounded into it again. They kept up a brutal pace, the bed making loud objections. Steve’s lips found the place beneath Bucky’s jaw that drove him wild, earning him more enthusiasm than he imagined possible. “Buck, I’m gonna” He started, when he felt the unstoppable release beginning to unfold.

“I’m with you,” Bucky panted into Steve’s ear as he came hard inside of Steve. They rode out their orgasm in unison, legs curling into each other, stretching out and clenching together, arms grasping each other tight enough to bruise. When it was over, Bucky slid out of Steve and lay next to him, breathing hard. He turned his head and whispered in his ear, “’til the end of the line.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky's morning after is interrupted by a very unwelcome wake-up call, and they make a strategic move to Stark Tower.

_“Bucky”  
_

     Unlocking the past was not the challenge; the past was an open book to him. The problem lay in finding which chapters to read and where to start.  
     Many of the gaps in Bucky’s memory began in the middle of sentences, and some picked up in the middle of moments the way that dreams begin. Bucky knew that in order to understand where he came from, he had to know which of these moments were important. So many of those memories also resided in Steve. Bucky reflected on this as he lay in bed next to Steve, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he dreamed peaceful dreams, uninterrupted by the horrors of half-buried traumas. Bucky envied Steve his sleep.  
     Somewhere in the house, a phone rang. Steve stirred in his sleep.

     “Hmm?” He asked, rolling into Bucky’s arms.

     “The phone…” Bucky said, moving to rise.

     “No.” Steve said, pulling him closer. “It’s not important.”

     “Are you sure?” Bucky asked, “It could be—“

     Steve cut him off with a kiss. “I guarantee you. Nothing is more important than this.”

     Bucky rolled into the kiss, his hands fitting themselves along Steve’s sides, Steve’s hands cupping Bucky’s face. It made Bucky feel important, special, something he could never remember having felt. The guilt in his chest ebbed away as Steve kissed along his jaw and neck. He couldn’t know that the Bucky he was kissing now was not the man he knew during the war, during the Depression. He would never kiss him this way if he knew how far deep in lies he was sinking every moment.

     “Steve, I…” He started. I what? I’m sorry? I’m full of shit? It wouldn’t come out. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to. “I have to piss. Gimme a second.”

     “Yeah. Okay.” Steve said, eyes glassy.

     Bucky got up and padded into the hallway, breathing deeply. The phone rang again. It rang. Rang. Bucky glanced at the number, unable to stem the curiosity. The call was from Europe. He answered.

     “Hello.”

     “Good.” He heard a familiar voice reply. It sent a chill down his spine like freezing water. “You don’t go as far off the map as you would like to believe.” His breaths were as sharp as nails, his eyes foggy. “Do not worry.” The voice continued, in a calming tone. “If your plan works, you will have nothing to fear. You have infiltrated the Avengers Initiative. We are impressed. You get your material and we get ours, yes? Bring us usable data and we will reward you.” The line went dead.

     Bucky felt cold swelling up inside him. He had been stupid. So stupid. To believe that he could go alone after decades as a puppet of the Red Room and HYDRA, to believe that he could control his own destiny, to think that he could have something that he wanted as much as his own memories or even Steve. His eyes flicked to the bedroom door, still ajar. He counted his heartbeats again, slow and steady by normal standards but butterfly flutters for him. His throat was dry. Steve was waiting for him. 

     “What’s wrong?” He asked the moment Bucky returned to the room.

     “It’s fine.” Bucky said, shaking his head.

     “Try again.” Steve said, holding a hand out, blocking Bucky’s advances. “I know that mug of yours better than my own, Buck. I know from ‘fine’ and that’s not it.”

 

     Bucky took a steadying breath, weighing his options. If he lied, Steve would know. There was nothing for it. “HYDRA knows I’m here.”

     “We’ll go underground.” Steve said, moving to stand.

     “We might not need to.” Bucky said, feeling a smile tug on one side of his mouth.

 

 _Steve_  
  
     Steve struggled to find adequate seating for Natasha, Clint, and Tony around his living room, dragging in extra chairs from the kitchen for a last ditch attempt at hospitality. Minimalist furniture was not a trend that made much sense to Steve. Why pay a bunch of money to look like you don’t own anything? He pushed the unbidden thoughts of home décor from his mind. This was a crisis—time to focus, Captain. He took in the expressions of each of his team one by one. Natasha had her game face on already: pure fire, contained expertly inside a cage of steel. Clint was removed, already obtaining a bird’s eye perspective on the situation. And Tony, well… Tony looked like he was just dying to say

     “I told you so.”

     “Excuse me?” Steve said, rounding on Tony.

     “I just thought we would get that out of the way so we could move on to bigger and better things. Speaking of bigger and better, I’ve got Bruce on Skype. He didn’t want to stop by in person. I’m sure you can understand why. Say hi, Bruce.” Tony placed a tablet strategically on a bookcase so that most of the room was in view.

     “Hi.” Bruce said. Short and to the point.

     “What exactly are we dealing with here?” Natasha asked.

     “Me.” Bucky said.

     “HYDRA knows Bucky’s location.” Steve said.

     “And they’re allowing him to remain here?” Natasha asked, leaning forward in her seat. “That’s not protocol.”

     “Unless he’s changed the game.” Tony interjected. “He’s already here, so they might as well see what he does. If he brings back some useful information about the Avengers, that’s somebody’s Christmas bonus right there. If he manages to take out Cap that was his original assignment anyway. If he takes out a few more of us while he’s here, that’s just frosting on the cake, right? This is what I was talking about. Terrible plan, Cap. Star spangled man with poor judgment and the very bad plan, but I guess they couldn’t fit all of that into the jaunty little tune.” Tony said.

     “Hey!” Barked Bucky, taking a step toward Tony. He was different, shoulders slung back, head forward, something altered about his frame and posture. “You gonna lay off, pal?” Steve stepped forward as well and put a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky gave a start, looking down at Steve’s chest, then back up to his face.

     Steve whispered in his ear “Bucky It’s fine. That’s just how Tony is.” Steve directed Bucky back toward the vacant place on the couch.

     “Really, though.” Natasha went on as though there had been no interruption, “What’s your plan, Bucky? Tony’s right, you have us in a pretty precarious position.”

     Bruce’s voice piped up from the tablet. “You shouldn’t make a move until you figure out how HYDRA tracked him to Steve’s.”

     “I swear I haven’t been reporting my location.” Bucky spoke to Natasha.

     “I can validate that.” Steve said.

     “How?” Tony asked.

     Steve rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly wishing that he had thought of a better alibi. “I have been monitoring him.” He said.

     “I’m not concerned about Bucky’s behavior.” Bruce said, “I’m concerned about his arm.”

     Each pair of eyes in the room immediately swiveled to fix on Bucky’s left arm.

     “Do you mind if I take a look at it?” Tony asked, tentative for the first time since Steve met him. In answer, Bucky stuck out his arm. “I won’t be able to do a thorough examination here. I’ll have to take you to Stark Tower.” Tony said. 

     “If HYDRA tracked him here, they’ll find him there just as easily.” Steve shook his head.

     “Good thing Stark Tower is more defensible, then.” Tony said.

     “If you two are done speaking for me,” Bucky said, stepping between Steve and Tony, “I’ll go and pack.” He turned from them and walked toward the guest bedroom, back straightening as he went. 

 

Steve followed Bucky, veering into his own bedroom instead. He grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and tossed items into it without much thought. 

     “So.” Natasha said, leaning against his doorframe, “I see you’ve been busy.” She inclined her head to the mussed sheets, the comforter on the floor in a crumpled heap. They hadn’t needed it.

     “Practicing hand to hand combat.” Steve said, his voice steady, but one corner of his mouth tucked up in a sly smile.

     Natasha shook her head slowly. “Steve.”

     “I’m not judging.” She said.

     “It’s _Bucky_.”

     “Okay.” Natasha replied. Steve sat on the bed, zipping the bag. He ran a hand across his forehead, smoothing the lines that crept across it.

     “You’re concerned.” He said.  
   
     "Don’t tell me how I feel.” Natasha said, automatically. Then, in a softer voice she said “We’ll talk later.” And turned from the room, making it abundantly clear that Steve was meant to follow her.

 

_Bucky  
_

     He felt Steve’s hand on his thigh, steadying him during the descent. He imagined that it was because he looked nervous. The truth was he was fighting the impulse to jump once they reached a safe distance from the drop-off point. It was second nature. Waiting until landing seemed unnecessary. The sound of the helicopter blades brought the Soldier to the front of his brain, made it hard to shut off the tingling desire to snap bones like twigs and slice through arteries with perfect precision and stolen knives. He bit the inside of his cheek and counted seconds, heartbeats, instead. _Bucky. It’s Bucky now,_ he thought as they landed. He leaned his head back, sighing with relief, and felt Steve squeeze his thigh gently.  
     From across the helicopter, he saw Romanov watching them closely. He smiled from under his eyelashes at her. He knew that look, remembered it from a younger face, but certainly her face.

     Safely inside, Tony gave them the tour. Bucky didn’t need it. Stark tower, the layout, blueprints, satellite pictures, had all been seared into his memory. He could find his way around this building in the dark if he needed to. HYDRA had seen to that.  
Tony’s expression of pride glowed when he showed them the lab.  
Bucky felt the bile rise in the back of his throat like fire. He turned to Steve, saw the crease between his eyebrows that meant he was doing a bad job of hiding the distress. Bucky shook his head.

     “Later.” Steve said to Tony. “Bucky needs a break.”

     He expected a fight from Tony. Overbearing, controlling, type-A personality; he knew the whole dossier backward and forward on Iron Man. This was his lab. Bucky, specifically his shiny metal arm, were about to become his subject. He couldn’t imagine Tony letting him rest first. His handlers at HYDRA certainly wouldn’t have. Bucky must have looked terrible. Tony nodded and turned to one of his machines.

     “See you later.” Tony said. The knot in his stomach loosened slightly. He felt the air come and go more freely from his lungs. 

     “Thank you.” He forced the words from his constricted throat and fled from the lab as quickly as he could without running.

     He reached their bedroom—spacious, opulent, but quiet—and collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily. He wasn’t ready for labs and restriction and tests. Not yet, not so soon after escaping that life. Steve’s thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, wiping away the moisture there. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t do that anymore. They tore that out of him along with his memories.

     “What do you need?” Steve asked, brushing his hair back.

     “This.” Bucky replied, pressing his lips to Steve’s.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have a heart-to-heart.  
> Bucky recalls his past with Steve.  
> The Winter Soldier has a breakthrough-- not the good kind.

_Steve_

     “How long have you been a couple?” Tony asked, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Steve choked on his coffee. “I mean, should I be planning your diamond anniversary party? Is this a long-term thing, or are you just trying out the whole stars and stripes deal?” One look at the set of the captain’s jaw and the cold calculating look in his eyes told Tony that he was pushing too far.

     “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve said.

     “No, actually I do.” Tony said, swirling his coffee around in the mug. “I had my experimental phase. Phases. I’m a scientist, what can I say? I like to experiment.”

     “Bucky is not an experiment.” Steve said.

     “No. He’s your best buddy, back from the dead. That’s enough to turn anybody’s head.” Tony put his coffee down and took a seat across from Steve. “Look. It’s not a problem for us, for the team. You’re keeping him here, stable. I just need to know that stability is going to hold out. Is there a foundation here?” Tony asked.

     Steve mulled it over in his head. Of course there was a foundation. There were years and years of it. Scraping to get by in Brooklyn, growing up together, the war. Bucky was the only person who knew the world that Steve came from, the only person who knew what he had gone through and who he had been before. Somewhere in the back of his head, a thought whispered that _Bucky didn’t know these things anymore; Bucky was still as lost to him as he had been when he fell from that train; the Bucky sleeping in Tony Stark’s guest bedroom was nearly a stranger to him_. He shook the thoughts away.

     “Yes.” Steve said, definitely. “No one knows Bucky like I do, and no one knows me like he does. We trust each other.” The words felt hollow in his throat.

     “Good.” Tony says, nodding. “Because this might get touchy. He has a lot of shit to work through.”

     “Don’t we all?” Said Steve, taking another sip of his coffee. 

   ***

     Day one in the lab was a tense one. Once Bucky was up and showered, they made their descent to the basement where Tony kept the “big guns” as he called them. The big guns turned out to be a collection of medical tables connected to large, imposing machinery, and an assortment of display screens that sat dark and blank as Steve, Bucky, and Tony walked into the cold room.

     “Does it have to be so chilly down here?” Steve asked. It wasn’t that he minded, but anything to keep the memory of frozen mountain passes and under-heated, impersonal laboratories from the forefront of Bucky’s mind would be good.

     “Afraid so.” Tony said, turning the power on for several machines at once. “The magnets need to stay cold.”

     “Right. Magnets.” Bucky said, taking a look at an assortment of large cylindrical pieces at the back of the room over his shoulder.

     “Just stay outside of the yellow line. You should be fine.” Tony said, not looking up from his work.

     “Should? That’s comforting.” Steve said.

     “Are you planning on hovering the whole time, Steve?” Tony asked. “Cause I could have a magazine or some coloring books brought down for you if you need a distraction. 

     “I’m good.” 

     “Good.” More buttons and switches were pressed and flipped.

     “I thought you would have this all automated already.” Steve said before he could stop himself. Nearly everything in Tony’s building was so advanced it seemed to happen by magic. He thought he would never get used to it, but now, watching Tony do something the “old-fashioned” way, he realized that he already had.

     “These were delivered last night. Even I don’t have time for that.” Tony said.

     Something about that resonated with Steve. This was expensive medical equipment, state of the art. Tony bought it and had it delivered just to take a look at Bucky. Steve remembered choking down half-doses of cough syrup when he was a kid to make the bottle last longer. He remembered Bucky bringing his medicine home to him, not asking where it came from because he knew better. Neither of them would have believed it if they could have looked into a crystal ball and seen this room. Steve turned to face Bucky and took his hands.

     “We’re going to get you better.” He said, meaning every word. Bucky swallowed and said nothing. “Tony’s got a big head, but it’s the good kind. He knows what he’s doing, alright? I’m going to be here.”

     “I—“Bucky started, taking a deep, shaking breath to steady himself, “I don’t,”

     “You can do this, Buck.” Steve said, gripping his hands tighter.

     “I don’t want you in here.” Bucky said, the words landing hard at their feet.

     “Oh.” Was all Steve could manage to say in return.

     “I don’t want you to see me like…” Bucky swallowed again.

     “It’s alright. I understand. I’ll be upstairs when it’s over.” Steve said. Feeling grateful for the amount of attention that Tony was devoting to the machines, Steve swept a fallen lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear. He cupped his jaw and left a soft kiss on Bucky’s parted lips.  
He felt Bucky whisper “Thank you” against his lips before he turned to leave. It was going to be alright, he told himself as he boarded the elevator alone.

 

_Bucky_

     He closed himself off, shutting away the parts that felt fear, loneliness, cold.  
     When he turned back to the scientist, it was as a subject. He was used to this, used to becoming a piece of meat to be dissected and rearranged. In a way the familiarity was comforting. He felt no desire to put up a fight. Stark gestured to an examination table. “Have a seat.” He said. The Soldier sat. Bucky retreated farther inside his mind.  
Stark attached electrodes to the soldier’s chest, surrounding his heart. They fed a monitor, tracing the peaks and valleys of his sinus rhythm, translating his heartbeat into a single jagged line. It was slow. It was efficient. He watched the seconds tick past that way.  
Stark drew up a table full of equipment. The soldier knew better than to watch. The arm was not flesh and blood, but it was wired into his nervous system. It felt pain.

He thought, instead, of the scraps of memory that he could cling to.

               _The bar was dark and full already by the time he and Steve showed up. Steve had a hard time making it out of the apartment that night. He didn’t mind; he never       minded that kind of thing. They ordered their drinks at the bar and found a table, already sticky from a drink somebody else spilled. They sat on the same side, facing the stage where a girl who looked like an angel and sang like hell was finishing her last song of the night. She had a brass band behind her. He couldn’t hear himself think. That was how he liked it on his nights off._  
 _He and Steve sat close together that night. He imagined how easy it would be to rub his foot against Steve’s foot, to brush his knee against Steve’s knee. His leg stayed firmly in place. It was just the joint and the song and the drinks, he told himself. He needed to find a broad to dance with and that would be that._  
 _After another beer, he found himself on his feet, dancing with the singer who had abandoned her place behind the microphone for the dance floor. She moved so sweet and so right that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to plant one on her lips at the end of the dance. She kissed back enthusiastically. When he closed his eyes he saw Steve’s face under his, kissing back like the world was on fire. It was better that way. It was the best kiss he had ever had._

His arm gave a sharp, shocking sensation at the wrist. Stark dropped the instrument he was using.  
“Ouch!” He said, jumping back. “That was unexpected.” He picked up a similar instrument with a rubber tip and continued to poke and prod.

_He saw Steve through dozens of attacks. He knew it was going to be alright. That did nothing to counteract the terror that squeezed his chest every time Steve’s breath came in gasps and wheezes. It was worse in winter. It was worse when he had to climb stairs. It was worse when Bucky forgot to slow down, when he forgot that Steve needed a little extra help. It was his fault Steve was pale and shaking._   
_“Just like the doc said, in through the nose out through the mouth. You’re alright.” He said, rubbing his back as gently as if he were about to shatter._   
_The attacks got worse after the crash when everybody went broke, after Steve’s ma died, and after the war broke out, when their friends started enlisting and Steve couldn’t. He knew Steve was going to take it hard._   
_“I’m sorry.” He said. He didn’t know if Steve could hear it. He didn’t know if he cared. “I’ve gotta. You know my dad, he died for his country. If I don’t go and do my part, I’m letting him down. I’m sorry Steve.” He said the words between the gasps. Slowly, very slowly, Steve’s breathing leveled out. “You understand?” He asked after the silence between them was punctuated only by the steady stream of Steve’s regular breathing._   
_Steve nodded, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah.” He said. “But don’t count me out yet. I’m going with you.”_   
_“I’d never count you out, Buddy.” Bucky said._

Stark kept digging. The pressure in the soldier’s wrist turned into a stinging, burning feeling. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, careful not to grind his teeth.

     “That hurt?” Stark asked. The question startled the Soldier. He rolled it around in his mind for a moment before answering.

     “Yes.” He said, finally. Stark stopped. 

     “Did you get what you needed?”

     “That’s a big question.” Stark said. “I got a good start, though. I was able to make a dent in it, at least.”

     “You’re disappointed.” The Soldier said, reading it in the way Stark looked at his forearm.

     “I think I’ve almost got something. I just want to know…” Stark started. “We’ll pick it back up when I figure out how to do it without hurting you. A local anesthetic won’t work, so we’ll have to get crafty.”

     “Keep going.” The Soldier said.

     “Are you sure? Right now?” Stark said.

     “I can take more than that.”

     “Okay.” Stark said. “But you’re going to let me know if it gets too uncomfortable.” He picked up the instrument again as the Soldier leaned back against the table. “If I’m right, it won’t take much longer.”

The Soldier returned to his thoughts as the scientist returned to his puzzle.

_Steve was the Captain now. He was taller than Bucky, and too big to comfortably squeeze into bed next to. It didn’t matter. After they marched through the woods together, a gun in Bucky’s hands, eyes searching the trees for signs of enemies, it was enough to be near him in the quiet stillness of a bunk that wasn’t big enough. It was the least of their worries. He listened to the sound of Steve’s breathing, smelled the faint traces of his toothpaste, the smell of soap, it hadn’t changed. He breathed deeply and rested his head on his friend’s shoulder, curled his body into the bunk._   
_“Bucky?” Steve asked, still mostly sleeping._   
_“Yeah, Steve. It’s me. Go back to sleep.”_   
_Steve shifted to make more room on the bed, turning onto his side, eyes fluttering open._   
_“I’m glad you’re here.” Steve said. To Bucky’s ears, Steve was glad in a general sense—glad that he was back, safe. Glad that he was with Steve in the war. Glad that they were fighting side by side together like they were meant to. He didn’t let himself believe that Steve was glad that Bucky was curled up next to him in his bunk in the wee hours of the morning._   
_“You’ve always got me.” He said. However Steve wanted him, it would always be true._

_Later that night, while Steve slept the deep, undisturbed slumber of a man who has everything under control, Bucky’s mind raced. Other guys paired up, this side of the pond, with their gals so far away and nobody around to keep the chill off at night. Nobody talked about it, but nobody made any judgments. It wasn’t real, wouldn’t be true, but Bucky imagined that it might be good enough._   
_He pictured talking it through with Steve. “Hey pal, you think you want to be mine for the time being? Seeing as we might get blown up any day now?” It wasn’t the most romantic way to pose the question. Just then Steve pressed closer to Bucky in his sleep—just the cold, Bucky told himself—and moved. It was the kind of movement that Bucky hadn’t imagined Steve’s waking body would know how to do, rolling his hips like he’d been doing it for years. His mouth went dry. He felt the blood rush from his head. If Steve had been a mind reader, he couldn’t have picked a better, or worse, time to press himself against Bucky like that. God he wanted him to do it again._   
_Steve ground into Bucky, one arm slung across Bucky’s waist, holding tightly to him. Bucky was frozen to the bed, afraid to move and wake his friend but dying to ease the tension. He worked a hand between his legs, staying as still as he could while Steve’s sleeping form moved restlessly. He felt Steve’s breath against his ear, the movement of the bed beneath him, and closed his eyes pretending that it was Steve’s hand on him. He bit his lip and came hard under the blanket. Steve’s movements slowed shortly after, but his hand remained firmly curled around Bucky’s side._

     “Yep. Got it.” Stark said, snapping the Soldier from his reverie. 

     “What is it?” He asked.

     “Your pulse just spiked. Are you stressed out about something?” Stark asked.

     “Other than the obvious, no.” The soldier felt himself slipping back into Bucky’s skin, the details of the memories staying with him. “I remembered some things.” The look of surprise on Starks face put him on edge. “Nothing groundbreaking. I’ll talk to Steve.” He said. “Tell me about what you found.” He continued, nodding toward his arm.

     “It’s promising.” Stark said. “When your pulse went up, it triggered a micro-GPS monitor. They’ve probably got it on you in case you need to be extracted. I don’t imagine your pulse is elevated very often.”

     “No. It’s not.” Bucky said.

     “A perk of that whole super-soldier thing. So anyway, I am disabling the monit—“ Stark was speaking, but it ceased to matter. A buzzing sound filled the Soldier’s ears.

     The surge filled him from his core, spreading outward like wildfire. He felt it seeping into his bones, unstoppable. The urge to destroy, to destruct, to break down everything around and inside until there was nothing left to put back together. Once it was taken apart it would feel better than this. It had to feel better than this, because this was unbearable. He twitched his fingers, feeling the power in them. They were meant to take things apart, and that was exactly what he was going to do.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve fights the Winter Soldier through a self-destruction program.   
> Bucky wakes up next to Steve the morning after, feeling closer than ever.   
> Natasha arrives with news about another impending disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this one. Real life got the better of me.   
> I endeavored to make up for it with some sexiness (which works on late assignments in the realm of fan fiction but not so much in real life).

_Steve_

     Bucky had been in the lab for hours.

     “He’s fine.” Sam said for the umpteenth time. “Tony’s keeping a close eye on him. Besides, it’s good for you two to stop breathing each other’s air for a second.”

     “I guess you’re right.” Steve said, collapsing onto the couch.   
   
     “Gotta say,” Sam went on, “I thought he would be harder to track down. For a mysterious agent of chaos who evaded capture for decades, he sure did come out of the woodwork pretty easily.” 

     “I guess he never wanted to before.” Steve said. It was a dangerous thought, imagining Bucky—no, the Winter Soldier—so content in the business of silently taking out world leaders and key players that he never bothered to look for any clue to the missing pieces of his memory. Steve didn’t want to go there. 

     “It’s been keeping you busy, hasn’t it?” Sam asked. “This whole Bucky thing.” Steve knew Sam was asking without asking. He didn’t know how much he was ready to divulge. 

     “He’s a handful.” Steve instantly regretted his choice of words.

     “I’ll bet.” Sam laughed. 

     “Sir,” JARVIS’ voice piped up from the speakers. “There seems to be a problem in basement lab C.” 

     “Be right down.” The elevator dinged, the door sliding open in answer. Steve was already on his feet, Sam right behind him. 

     “This is containment. Nothing else. You gotta put him down, you go for unconscious. Clear?” Steve said, falling into his role as Captain as they descended.

     “Got it.” Sam nodded. 

     “Can this thing go any faster?” He asked as they took their time in the controlled fall down floor after floor. Steve had thawed faster than this. The elevator sped up, slightly, barely enough to make a difference. 

     They reached Basement C and Steve was out before the elevator door had opened all the way. Through the lab window, he could see an upturned examination table.

     Equipment was scattered across the floor. Bucky was holding Tony by the throat against the farthest wall, a knee pressing hard into his gut. Despite the lack of his suit, Tony was putting up a decent fight, keeping Bucky’s metal arm at bay with a well-placed electrode attached to a long, dangerous looking instrument. 

     “Bucky.” Steve called, throwing the lab door open. His friend turned over his shoulder, their eyes locked. Steve was not sure who he was looking at. There was recognition, but it was not the warm, reassured kind that he was coming to associate with Bucky. Bucky’s eyes wore the methodical focus that Steve had seen on the bridge, back when Bucky was deep in the throes of HYDRA’s brainwashing. It hit harder than any fist, flesh or metal.   
   
     The Soldier—it could only be the Soldier—abandoned Tony and launched himself at Steve. They locked together, each giving as good as he got. For every one of The Soldier’s vicious sweeping kicks and powerful jabs, Steve parried and blocked, effectively cutting him off. It enraged the Soldier. The passive approach whipping him into a frenzy, spurring him onto more violent, ill-advised tactics. His training forgotten, his moves resembled back alley scraps that Bucky used to get into, back when Steve picked fights with bullies three times his size.

     The dim persistence of the Soldier was replaced by the fire of Bucky’s rage. He grabbed Steve’s shirt, ripping it as he pushed him back with his shoulder, leaning into him with everything he had. He punched at his side, even though it hurt his hand more than it hurt Steve. He let out a throat-searing yell, falling to his knees, punching Steve’s abdomen, his gut, then his legs when he couldn’t keep at it anymore. 

     He sat at Steve’s feet, head bowed, continuing to hit his legs as the strength drained from his arm and the fatigue set in. Steve stood over Bucky, watching the collapse like watching a dying star through a telescope. There was nothing to do but let it happen. The damage had been done too long ago to do anything but watch. He felt it just the same. Each of Bucky’s punches landed just where they were meant to, not on his skin, but deeper. Bucky raised his eyes to Steve’s face, the familiar expression of trust and safety rekindled within them. 

     “Steve?” He asked? His voice was raw, the name burned into it like he had never said any other word. Bucky’s eyes rolled up, beyond Steve’s face, and his mouth curled into a smile as he fainted.

     Steve picked Bucky up and carried his unconscious body from the lab into the elevator. As he boarded it, he distinctly heard Sam comment to Tony under his breath “Oh yeah. That’s healthy.”   
     They could both go fuck themselves.

 

_Bucky_

      His eyes drifted open lazily, lashes sticking to each other, the muscles in his face waking up one by one. It was the last moment of peace before he remembered who he was, where he was, what he was. It was as close to a memory wipe as he would ever get again and he almost understood why they used to do that to him.   
       
     Memory wipes. Oh God. No. He thought about it and now it was real. He remembered the straps, the guards, the orders, the ice. His breath came to him with difficulty and the room’s brightness felt oppressive, the sheets too tight. He was awake and he wished more than anything that he was not. A hand, large and warm and calloused, reached across the pillow to stroke his hair back from his face. It was a hand that he knew; a gentle one that he did not need to cringe away from. He swallowed the fear down, accepting the touch. Steve.

     “Hey there, buddy.” Steve said, just above a whisper.   
     Peppermint.   
     Old wallpaper, dusty and yellow from years of someone else’s cigar smoke.   
     The rickety brass bed in Steve’s room where he used to lay under a pile of blankets that were heavier than he was in the winter.   
     These things were in Bucky’s mind like Steve had picked them out of his own memory and placed them there. He wanted to put them in a jar and hold onto them forever. He wanted to know they could never disappear.   
  
     “How are you feeling today?” Steve asked, his voice steady, careful. Bucky didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know what he was feeling, let alone how he was feeling. The terror of the day before had ebbed away over the night, driven from him by Steve’s proximity. He felt better the closer he was to Steve. That much was clear.   
  
      Bucky shifted closer, thinking the question through. He was feeling shaken, like there were too many of him in his mind. There was his old self, still weak, still hiding beneath a surface of ice somewhere in a laboratory that he didn’t want to remember. Then, there was this new Bucky, the one who lay beside Steve now under the warm blankets in the morning sunlight. There was also the Soldier, still fighting for dominance, still aching to pull the trigger and remove his target. Each of these people lived inside of him, he thought. It wasn’t a matter of feeling; it was a matter of knowing. 

     “I don’t know,” Bucky said. He reached up to Steve’s face with his right hand, feeling his skin against Steve’s stubble, the hard line of Steve’s jaw resting comfortably in his palm. When he kissed him, it was the answer to all of his uncertainties. He drew back just far enough to see Steve’s eyes. “but I know this.” They kissed again, for what felt like an eternity, parting to draw breath before their lips reconnected of their own accord. They moved together in a dance that required no explanation. It was never thoughtless, but it did not exactly require thinking. They were complete together in a way they could never be separately.

     Bucky felt as if the battling pieces of himself were at peace while he was with Steve. While their lips caressed each other’s, while their tongues moved against one another, hands and hips and legs wound their way into all the right places, nothing else mattered. They were both exactly where they needed to be. 

     “Do you want to do this?” Steve asked him as they broke apart to gasp for air.

     “No.” Bucky said, suddenly serious. Steve’s face fell, but he pulled himself a respectful distance away before Bucky clutched at him, drawing him back again. “I mean that I want you to make love to me, Steve.” He said. Steve’s features softened again, a blush creeping into his cheeks. 

     “Oh I—“ He started, before Bucky cut him off.

     “I want you to fuck me.” Bucky said, sitting up, bringing his lips to Steve’s ear. “I want you to make me come apart. Make me forget everything but you. Fuck me like I am the only thing in the world.” He punctuated the request by sucking Steve’s earlobe into his mouth, then leaving a scorching trail of kissing along his neck. When he rose back up to meet Steve’s eyes they were clouded with desire.

     “I think I can manage that.” Steve said, his voice deep in his throat. He pulled Bucky down for a hard kiss, flipping them over, mussing the bedding as they went.  
Bucky watched from his back as Steve pulled away, sat up. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked.

     Steve glanced over his shoulder at him with a deviant smile. “I didn’t exactly come prepared.” He glanced around the room. “But this is Stark’s house. I’ll be damned if we can’t find condoms.” Steve raided the bedside table. “What did I tell you?” He said, tossing one condom at Bucky with each word.

     Bucky laughed, tearing a foil packet open. “Come here.” He said. Steve made to crawl onto the bed next to Bucky. “No. Here.” He repeated, gesturing for Steve to come closer. “Kneel in front of me. I want to do something.” Steve did as Bucky said. Bucky placed the condom on him, then ducked his head and rolled it down the length of him with his mouth.

     “Buck!” Steve yelled, grasping Bucky’s hair, throwing his own head back while Bucky bobbed up and down. Bucky forced himself not to smile at hearing his own name as profanity. He guarded his teeth and focused. The rewarding sounds from Steve, coupled with the encouraging motions of his hips made him want to stay there forever, but he knew that wouldn’t get him what he needed. He dragged his lips slowly off of Steve’s cock, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a moment after they parted. The corner of his mouth tucked up into a smile as his eyes flicked up to Steve’s. 

     “That was…” Steve panted. 

     “Yeah, don’t ruin the moment.” Bucky shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Sap.” 

     “Jerk.” 

     “Punk.”

     The words were out of him before he knew what he was saying. Something about the smile that crept across Steve’s face was telling. They weren’t just words to Steve. 

     “Hey.” Bucky said, running his hands along Steve’s sides. “You still here?” 

     Steve snapped back into the moment, taking in Bucky stretched out below him with renewed reverence. He kissed Bucky with all the energy and passion of the words he couldn’t form. The thoughts that he couldn’t put into words flowed through his kiss. _It’s you. You’re home. You’re safe. I love—  
_

BAM! A knock at their door reverberated through the silence of the room. Then another. Then another. 

     “It’s, uh…” Steve felt the heat radiating from his face. 

     “Yeah. Bad time, I know.” He heard Natasha’s voice, smooth and steady from the other side of the door. “We have a crisis. Need you suited up and ready to go in five.” 

     Steve allowed himself one moment of selfishness. He felt the groan low in his throat, pressed his forehead into Bucky’s chest, pulled Bucky to him. “I would ask you to stay like this for me,” He whispered, “but this might take a while.” He felt Bucky nod against the top of his head. “To be continued?” He asked. 

     “I’ll see you when you’re done saving the world, Captain.” Bucky said, raising Steve’s face up for one more kiss.

***

     It took Steve three minutes to meet Natasha on the other side of the door, suited up, alert, and battle-ready. It was a personal all-time-low.   
     Natasha began as soon as Steve closed the door behind him. “Come on, Rogers. Walk and talk. I’m supposed to brief you while we head to the plane. Thor was getting everybody else up to speed while you were shacked up with loverboy.” 

     “We weren’t shacked up.” Steve said.

     “Whatever you say, Cap. You’re not exactly quiet.” She said, raising her eyebrows and throwing a disbelieving look over her shoulder. “Keep up.” She picked up her pace.

     “Hydra has taken possession of an Asgardian weapon. The sword of Freyr. It has the power to fight on its own and it never misses its mark. HYDRA is trying to harness its power for their other weapons, and if they do, the results could be catastrophic.”

     “I don’t understand.” Steve said. “We have automated weapons with pin-point precision accuracy already. Stark designed most of them himself. Why are we worried?” 

     “Stark said nearly the same thing.” Natasha smiled. “Do I need to remind you what happened with the tesseract? That was an energy source. Imagine what will happen when an actual weapon is unleashed with the full force of HYDRA behind it.”

     “I understand.” Steve said, falling into contemplative silence. He had hoped that this would be a simple mission. It was a foolish hope. Nothing was ever simple, even the idea of simplicity was not simple when it came to this line of business and he knew it. Steve would get on a plane as Captain America and travel to a secret location, where there would be a constant looming threat. It was his responsibly to destroy that threat before it spread to engulf the rest of the world. That was as simple as it got. The idea sent a spiral of energy down his spine and into his fingers and toes. It may not be simple, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

     “Let’s go.” He said, opening the doors to the hangar.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been lovingly referring to this as the Tolkien Chapter because everybody does a lot of traveling and not a whole lot else.   
> Steve leaves on his mission with the rest of the team.   
> Bucky strikes out on his own to discover what HYDRA has been hiding from him.

_Bucky_

     Steve left. Of course he did. He was Captain America, after all, which meant certain responsibilities, including leaving his brainwashed, assassin lover with a hard-on very shortly after a mental collapse with no explanation and no time to say goodbye. Bucky understood. He fell back against the pillows and touched himself, thinking about what Steve might have done if they had not been interrupted by the end of the world. It did not make him feel better, but he came to the other side of an orgasm with a sense of resignation. It was this or no Steve, and that choice was clear.

     In the shower, Bucky wondered if he would ever be a part of the team. He felt the water drip down the metal arm, cascading over the ridges like it would over the scales of a fish. He tried to strangle Stark less than forty-eight hours ago. He imagined the chances were slim that he would be taught the secret Avengers handshake any time soon. Still, he thought. Sniper training, an in-depth knowledge of HYDRA operations, his relationship—whatever that was—with the Captain… it couldn’t amount to nothing. They weren’t going to all this trouble for charity, right?

     The question slid into his mind. Eyes opening wide under the stream of water. What were they doing with him? What could they want with him? Steve was one thing. He had a history with Steve. He thought. He was sure he remembered Romanov, too. He wanted to speak Russian with her. She made him think half-formed thoughts. Maybe there was a history there. The others were strangers, though.

     Bucky dried himself with a downy towel, shaking water droplets from his hair like a wet dog. It made him smile for a reason he couldn’t recall. He retreated into the bedroom, falling onto the underused bed. “JARVIS?” He asked into the stillness around him.

     “Yes, Sargent Barnes?” the disembodied voice replied. He found it off-putting. Creepy. Like a voice just out of sight while he drowned or shivered. It made him remember things he wished he did not have to.

     “Are there orders to keep me from leaving the building?”

     “No, sir.” JARVIS answered. It was so far from what he was expecting to hear that Bucky sat up, suddenly alert. Sensing a trap.

     “Guards?” He asked. 

     “No, sir.”

     “Any reason, person, mechanical device, or other system that would prevent me from leaving this building?” He asked. 

     “No sir. None of those specifications exist.” 

     “So I am free to go if I want.” 

     “Yes sir.” JARVIS answered. “Although I might suggest that you consider wearing clothing if you decide to leave the suite.”

     Bucky glanced down at himself and chuckled. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” 

     The closet and dresser were stocked. He slid into a pair of dress pants and found that they fit well enough. A plain white shirt stretched across his shoulders without complaint, but upon inspecting the jackets, it occurred to him that nothing of Stark’s would accommodate the expanse of his shoulders and arms. If he was going to leave, he would have to do it with the most recognizable arm in New York. He accepted the challenge.

     On the table was a large envelope with neat writing printed across it. “Буцкы” He traced his fingers over the Russian letters, breathing out the sounds they made. It was wrong, the dissonance of the name he learned from Steve in the tongue he used as a ghost, as an assassin. 

     “Natasha.” He said into the silence. She was the bridge between his worlds. It was her gift to him. Bucky opened the envelope.   
_  
Bucky,  
I don’t have time for details. You might be on your own for a while. I know you aren’t going to stay put no matter how we ask, so if you go looking for trouble, take back up.   
This is your back up.   
This folder contains all the personal information that I can give you. It is salvaged material that was not stored in the SHIELD database, so it will be valuable to HYDRA. _    
 _The material here is from my file only._

_You owe me one.  
Natasha_

     He set the envelope into the bag which rested on the table. It was all placed there for him. He could see Natasha’s plan laid out before him as if she had drawn him a map. It was a test, a bargaining chip, a tool. He could betray them or he could use this gift to win back the pieces of his memory that HYDRA kept in their grasp. It was, for lack of a better word, a mission.   
     The thrill of it lit a fire inside Bucky’s skin. With new purpose, he left Stark tower, and faced the world without his mask for the first time in seventy years.

_Steve  
_

     Natasha at his side, Steve walked into the hangar, feeling the heat of the engines, the wind on his face and experienced a sense of wholeness; the calm before a storm. He boarded the plane, realizing for the first time just how absent he had been since Bucky’s arrival. He was going to be, quite literally, flying blind. 

     Tony was reclining in the seat nearest to the cockpit, not yet dressed in the suit. That was a good sign, Steve figured. On the other hand, Agent Barton had returned to the team from his most recent mission. Steve imagined that was less of a good sign. If they needed Clint, they were going up against something tough. And then, of course, there was Thor; Unmistakable in the cape, with his sweeping locks of golden hair and concrete block of a jaw. He was formidable, and Steve was certainly grateful that his allegiance lay with him rather than against him.

     “Welcome, Captain.” Thor said, a warm smile lighting his face. “Has Romanov relayed my message?” 

     “Good to see you, Thor. I got the message, more or less.” Steve replied. “The sword of Freyr, huh?” He said, taking a seat next to Thor as the plane’s engine revved. 

     “It has been missing these many centuries. It will be good to have it back where it belongs.” Thor said, caressing Mjolnir absently. Thor’s confidence was contagious. 

    “Where are we headed?” Steve asked, once they were in the air. 

     “South Dakota.” Tony said. 

     “No, but really.” Steve said. “Where?”

     “Coordinates: 44.967586, -103.772234, South Dakota. The geographical center of the United States. SHIELD had a base there with superior tracking devices. If there is a weapon with the specifications of the Sword of Freyr, we might be able to locate it from there.” Tony said. 

     “I see.” Steve said. “Never been to South Dakota before.” Silence descended around them before a thought struck Steve. “Hang on a minute.” he said. “I thought the center of the U.S. was in was Kansas.” 

     “The center of the lower contiguous 48 is in Kansas, yeah.” Said Clint. “That’s where the monument is. Wouldn’t exactly want a top secret bunker set up underneath a tourist trap. We’re headed to the center of the U.S. proper—including Hawaii and Alaska. Let’s us, I mean, it let SHIELD track people and items of national importance pretty efficiently.” 

     “Shit.” Tony said. “Glad we brought the walking encyclopedia of all things SHIELD.” Tony said. 

     “I kept my eyes open.” Clint said with a shrug.

    They flew in comfortable bouts of conversation and silence. Having not assembled since the events in New York, so much had happened in each of their lives and yet it felt as if no time had passed at all. Thor regaled the team with news of his recent exploits. Although the locations and names still felt like they had been torn from a book of myths and legends to Steve, the softness in Thor’s eyes when he spoke of Jane pierced him to the bone. They were not so different, the god and the super soldier, in love with someone who had been ripped from their grasp by time and space and circumstance. It made him see the humanity in Thor as he never had before.

     The plane touched down in a deserted field. 

     “Not much to look at it, is it?” Clint said, deplaning first, surveying the flat expanse of grass and nothingness to either side. It was, indeed, very empty. 

     “That’s the point, I suppose.” Natasha responded, nodding. She strode toward the landmark, a single pole jutting straight out from a block of concrete. Steve saw it just before she took the step. 

     “Look out!” He called, darting forward and throwing himself sideways, knocking her backward with his shoulder. She missed the mine by a hair and stumbled slightly, barely keeping to her feet. The explosion was averted, but just barely. 

     “A little warning would have been good, Barton.” She said over her shoulder with a look that could have cut steel. 

     “That’s new.” He said. 

     The team on the alert, they moved with caution. “It’s a miracle the plane landed.” Tony said. 

     “Something tells me it was allowed to land.” Steve replied, eyes fixed on the earth in front of him.

 

_Bucky_

     The air hit his face as he stepped through the doors of Stark Tower without incident. He took a deep breath, feeling his feet on the solid concrete, watching the passers-by who did not spare him a second glance, experiencing it all anew. He walked with the freedom to choose where his feet took him. He was drunk on it. He could go anywhere, do anything. If he wanted to, he could start running right now and go as far underground as it was possible to go—he certainly knew how. 

     A stream of cars moved along next to him in the steady flow of traffic. He hailed a cab at the light, sliding into the back seat. He repeated the address where he had so often found himself. Moving toward one of HYDRA’s bases, feeing his pulse accelerate, his chest tighten. His moment of freedom, his ability to choose—and he was using it to go back to the captors who had stripped all of that from him. 

_Steve is worth it_. He thought to himself. God, he hoped he was right.  

     The cab slowed, turned a corner, and stopped to let another passenger in. Bucky turned his head to see a familiar profile staring directly ahead, as if he had done this a million times. The gaunt face, sharp features, eyes that sliced through the particles in front of them with calculating precision, were as familiar to Bucky as any person on earth. If he were honest with himself, this was the face of the man who brought him back from the ice so many times he was more family to him than his own father. The thought sent a chill of horror through him. He kept himself steady. 

     “I hear they are calling you Bucky now.”

     “They are. I am.” He said, his back straightening, drilling a hole into the seatback ahead of him with his stare. 

     “This is foolish. Return to us and we will provide you with answers if that is what you wish.” 

     Bucky remained silent. “You know that we could take you if you resist.” A hand came up to stroke his face, as gentle as a lover. “I want this to be your choice. Солнце всегда устанавливает в том же месте. Вернуться к нам.” He whispered to Bucky, watching as his gaze softened, his features relaxed. “Have you brought us something useful?” He asked.

     Bucky inhaled, felt his skin crawling and burning where Aleksander Lukin touched it. He imagined that a million showers could not wash the filth from him because it was not a mark on his flesh but something much more visceral and more damning buried deep inside is soul. He was tied to this man as he was tied to the scientists who created his arm, as he was tied to the soldiers who fished him from the mountain pass where he fell. He swallowed down his hate for them in a way he never had before: with effort. 

     “Yes. This is everything on Romanov.”

     “Everything? We were under the impression that was all public knowledge now.” Lukin grabbed Bucky’s jaw, turning his head, bringing them eye to eye. Bucky felt his fingernails dig into his face just hard enough to leave red crescents when he let go. “You’re not trying to pull one over on us, are you?”

     “This is new information.”

     Lukin flipped through the file, nodding. “Ah yes. She has been a busy girl.” He shut the folder and slipped it into a briefcase. “This will do nicely for the time being. Well done.”

     “And my information?” Bucky asked. Lukin raised his knuckle to the roof of the cab and rapped three times. The driver turned. They drove in silence, until they came upon a neighborhood that filled Bucky with a feeling of longing so intense he believed he would choke on it. His eyes left Lukin for the first time in minutes, drifting to his own window, out past it into the street. It was like something out of a dream. He heard words and music in his mind that his waking self had never imagined. The storefronts were strange, but every brick of the structures were perfect. Some were entirely different, misplaced, out of time. Some, though, were so right he wanted to run his hands along them just to make sure they were real. It was, he realized, how he felt about Steve. The car stopped at a light. 

     “Out you get.” Lukin said, handing Bucky an old fashioned brass key. “You want answers, you will find them in there. Appartment 36 C. Third floor. Stay as long as you like, but you will call us when you are ready. This game of yours will end. You will see for yourself that the life you are looking for never was.” He turned away from Bucky, making it abundantly clear that he was finished. Bucky opened the door and fled into the street.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this one. The action will resume with Chapter Eight!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Thor find something unexpected at the tracking base.   
> Bucky explores the apartment he used to share with Steve. 
> 
> tw: past torture is alluded to in this chapter.

_Steve  
_  
     Hawkeye accessed an elevator which opened like a pit in the ground ready to swallow them. Cap, Black Widow, Thor, and Hawkeye passed a glance from eye to eye. Each shared the same sense of foreboding as they sank, tempered by the will to carry on. There was no going back. They felt the temperature drop as they descended into the earth.  
The elevator slowed to a stop. _Ding._ The bell split the silence around them as loud as a gunshot. Each of them assumed fight stances, ready to spring. The doors slid open to reveal a pristine hallway illuminated by endless rows of florescent lights. It appeared to stretch on for miles. All was silent and empty. The Captain stepped out first giving the signal for the rest to follow when he saw no signs of an ambush. They crept down the hall, all senses on high alert, the eerie quiet seeping into their bones with every step they took.

     At last, they arrived at a grand set of reinforced, steel double doors. They drew to a halt together, the plan unspoken. Widow flattened herself against the wall, ready to spring. Hawk eye drew his bow and took to the opposite wall, gaining as much distance and perspective as possible. Iron Man raised his hand, power rising, readying for an attack, while Thor raised his hammer, preparing for a thousand enemies. Captain America threw his shoulder against the doors and forced them apart, dropping to the ground to roll into the next room, avoiding whatever response might be aimed his way. None came.   
  
    Instead, He found himself in a control room, as still and quiet and sterile as the hallway from which he came, with the notable exception that it was strewn with the unconscious bodies of agents carrying skull and tentacles of HYRDA on their uniforms.  
  
     “You’re late.”   
  
     Agent Coulson stood at the center of the carnage. He wore an expression of serene focus, hands clasped together before him, shoulders back, as if he had been admiring a painting until the interruption of a handful of superheroes barging into the room. Steve wondered if Coulson knew the significance of those words. If he knew how many times Peggy accused him of lateness, that her last request of him before his plane hit the ice was not to be late. He shook the thoughts to the back of his mind. He could process later.   
  
     “You’re alive.” He said, feeling his chest constrict. To lose a friend and have them returned was becoming routine, but he imagined he would never get used to the feeling.   
  
     Coulson only nodded. “You have backup for this?” Steve asked, nudging a HYDRA agent with the toe of his boot.   
  
     “Didn’t need it.” Coulson replied.   
  
     “Is the base secure?” Natasha asked.  
  
     “Believe me,” Coulson said, “Your plane wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t.” They crossed to the wall of screens, each displaying a different region of the world with dots of varying color and endless lists of items that Steve could not begin to take in or categorize. “This is of highest confidence.” He said, inclining his head toward the screens. “Just one of these items could bring the world to its knees. This is more than a monitoring station; it is the key to continued life as we know it.”   
  
     “Tell us about the Sword of Freyr.” Steve said.  
  
     “Jumping to the chase, then?” Coulson said. “Don’t you want to know—“  
  
     “Don’t test us Coulson.” Natasha said, her words clipped. “We’re on the same side and you know it. We need to know what we’re looking at with the Sword of Freyr.”   
  
     Coulson’s expression changed, the softness gone. Straight to business. He pushed a HYDRA agent from a chair and sat down, inviting the rest to take the other unoccupied seats.   
  
     “You’ve been briefed about the properties of this item?” He asked, looking at Thor.   
  
     “I have shared with them all I know, yes.” Thor said.   
  
     “So you know that this weapon is deadly. The Sword has a mind of its own and never fails to hit its target.” Coulson said.   
  
     “What does HYDRA want with it?” Steve asked.  
  
     “Simple.” Coulson said. “Since the Winter Soldier has defected, HYDRA needs a new approach to your assassination, Captain. With the Sword, they will be able to override Winter Solder’s choices. He will take out his target whether he chooses to or not.”

 

 _Bucky  
_  
     The key turned in the lock like coming home after a long day, not decades. Bucky opened the door to reveal a small apartment. It was dusty, ancient, his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a skinny boy sitting on the armchair, a book in his hands. He looked again and the chair was _empty_. Bucky closed the door behind him and leaned against it, allowing it to support his weight while his knees could not. He breathed in the smell of the years gone by. There was no hint of decay, the place had been well preserved.  
  
     Crossing to the solid oak table, Bucky heard laughter, the shuffling of a deck of cards, the clinking and scraping of forks and knives on dense ceramic plates. He swiveled his head from right to left, taking in the gas stove and the small ice box, then staring out the window. The view was different. He saw a brick wall and a fire escape and nothing else. He knew that it had changed, but from what he couldn’t say. It made his gut churn, feeling the longing creep up his chest again, squeezing around his throat like a fist. How could he ache for something he could barely recall? How could he want it back so badly?   
  
     “Steve, where are you in all of this?” He asked into the silence. No answer came.   
  
     Bucky found his bedroom, the door open just like he left it seventy years before. He felt the doorframe under the metal of his thumb as he crossed the threshold. It was a small room, just large enough for a single bed, a desk, and a dresser. It was all he needed. He sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of the place press him down. Several pin-up girls cut from a calendar smiled down at him from the wall beside his bed, their colors faded. He felt something hard underneath his pillow. Extracting it, he discovered a leather-bound journal. Answers. Well, here they were. HYDRA was making good on their promise after all, Bucky thought, opening the book to a random page with steady hands.

_He’s a dead weight. Not much weight, sure, but it’s a lot to carry when you’ve been doing it your whole damn life. Just once, I’d like to come home to a quite house and no Steve badgering me about “have I done this? Have I done that?” but he is always here.  
If I had known what it would be like I would have thought twice before I gave him that key. Jesus. _

     Bucky snapped the journal closed, shaking his head. No. This wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t his truth. Although he recognized the handwriting as his own, he refused the words. This was HYDRA. It was not him.   
  
     With a renewed sense of caution, Bucky surveyed the rest of the apartment, looking for something else to hold onto.   
Steve’s room stood opposite Bucky’s. He opened the door without knocking, the familiarity of the action as comfortable as breathing. He stood in the center of the little box, too small for him then and miniscule now. Steve’s drawings still papered the walls. He hadn’t had time to take them down. The faces of neighbors, long dead, peered at him from yellowed paper. The room felt sacred, hallowed. Steve’s sketches taking the place of stained glass.   
  
     Bucky’s eyes fell on the trunk at the end of Steve’s bed. It had not gone with him when he left the apartment for the army, which meant that it was either full of things too negligible to bring or far too precious to risk. Opening it to find out pulled at the frayed edges of Bucky’s conscious, but he had come too far to leave it alone. 

 

 _Steve_  
  
     “Where is it?” Steve asked, rising from his seat.   
  
     “Hang on a sec, Cap. I’m all set to go in guns blazing, but we should get some intel—“ Tony began. Steve shut him down with a look.   
  
     “Where?”   
  
     “The Rocky Mountains.” Agent Coulson said, buying time. “But to get more specifics, you’re going to need to sit back down and talk it through. You know better than this, Captain.”   
  
     Steve stood, obstinate and ready to fight. A silence dragged from seconds into minutes.   
  
     “Steve.” Natasha said. “You have been compromised. Either you play on the team or you take a seat on the bench. Anything else and you’re going to get somebody else killed.”  
  
     He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but the gravity of the truth hit him like a bullet. He had been compromised from the moment he saw Bucky’s face. He sank back into the chair, hands coming up to his head, smoothing his hair back. “Okay.” He said, ready to listen at last. “Tell me what we’ve got.”   
  
     Coulson launched into the explanation. The Sword was being kept in the Sawatch mountain range in Colorado, the highest range in the Rockies. HYDRA’s base would be fully automated for self-defense, but they needed to count on any number of defense mechanisms and layers besides. Steve listened carefully to Coulson’s outline of the layout of the base, feeling himself don the role of leader as easily as his uniform. He sorted through the strengths of each of his comrades, giving suggestions. They rose as a unit, ready for the mission.   
  
     “Stark,” Steve said, “Does your plane have enough fuel to make it to Colorado?”   
  
     “Captain, if I might. I think the helicopter here might be a better option.” Coulson said, pressing a button, raising the screens to reveal a stealthy highly maneuverable helicopter. “It’s meant for retrieval missions like this.”   
  
     “Yeah.” Steve said, walking around to examine it. “Could work.”

 Once they were in the air, there was nothing to do but fly. No amount of anxiety, fidgeting, or short tempers could override the simple truth of miles. Natasha watched Steve with a careful expression, her face pinched in concentration. She was extracting information.   
  
     “He’s going to be fine.” She said into his ear.   
  
     “You know,” Steve turned his head slowly and kept his voice soft “the last time somebody told me that about Bucky, he nearly self-destructed. You want to try a different tactic?”  
  
     “I left him some gifts.” She said.   
   
     “Care to share with the rest of the class?” Tony said from across the aisle.

 

 _Bucky_   
  
     Keepsakes, sweaters that would never fit again, family heirlooms. The box held memories that lit no spark for Bucky. They were Steve’s and Steve’s alone. That was alright, he thought to himself. It was good for Steve to have something that belonged in his own past without the burden of Bucky’s weight. Still, Bucky kept digging, past the Christmas angel with a broken wing and a small jewelry box that he could not bring himself to open.   
  
     At the bottom of the box was another sketch book. It was as if Bucky had been searching only for this sketch book and the mysterious contents within. He opened it with the same reverence as his journal. What he found there left him with the same desire to slam it shut, but he could not look away.   
  
     The drawings were twisted, perverse. No wonder Steve had shut them away at the bottom of this trunk. As Bucky leafed through the pages, they became more and more sickening, violent, wrong. It was unmistakable: Bucky was the subject of most of the images. In them, he was smaller, a shadow of himself. He was depicted in pain, weak, unable to defend himself. Sometimes, Steve had drawn himself into the pages, either as a protector or the perpetrator. He was larger than Bucky in the drawings and always overbearing, intimidating.   
  
     Bucky swallowed, forcing himself to look. On the page, he was strapped to a chair while Steve loomed above, ready to electrocute him. The look of calm concentration on Steve’s face sparked a memory in Bucky’s mind. He had seen this before. He remembered the snap and pop of the electricity, the cool sponge on his head. It was not just a drawing.   
  
     On the next page, he saw Steve rescuing him. He extended a hand to Bucky who lay on a table, eyes wide with fear. He remembered this, too. The horror sinking into him when he saw Steve, because the Steve he knew wasn’t one hundred pounds soaking wet and the Steve standing above him, offering him safety and freedom, was someone who could singlehandedly save him from the arms of death itself. He remembered the indescribable joy at hearing Steve’s voice, because the voice hadn’t changed at all.   
  
     On the next page, Steve watched as faceless surgeons attached the Winter Soldier’s gleaming arm. Bucky shook his head, realizing at last the impossibility of it. Steve could not have drawn this. Not while he lived in Brooklyn before the war. Bucky rose from Steve’s bed, shutting the sketch book. His memories had been jogged, but they remained jumbled. There was only one thing he could get from HYDRA now: Blood.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky both attack a HYDRA base-- just not the same one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big one, folks!  
> I apologize in advance for the Russian, it is shamelessly internet translated, as I don't have any Russian-speaking friends.  
> Thank you again from the bottom of my heart for the hits, comments, and kudos. You are all amazing.  
> 

_Steve_

     “Steve, he’s not a toy you can set down and expect to find in the same place later.” Natasha said as they flew over snow covered peaks. She was right. Of course she was. She was Natasha.

     “You sent him to HYDRA?” Steve said again.

     “No.” She said, as the rest of the crew’s heads volleyed back and forth between them as if they were watching a tennis match. “He was already headed there. I just gave him a tactical advantage.”

     Steve clenched his fists, looked out the window. He took a breath in and then let the tension drop. “Thank you.” He said.

     “What was that?” She asked, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.  
   
     “I said thank you. Bucky can take care of himself in a fight, but your documents might mean the difference between success or failure in there. You had his back when I didn’t.” They began a short descent into the clouds. The temperature dropped dramatically. “Okay team, back to the mission.” Steve said, as he shook off the heavy moment, his voice taking on the authoritative edge that was second nature to him. “You know what we need to do.” 

     The base was nothing more than a concrete outpost jutting from the side of the mountain. It would have been easy to miss if they had not been looking for it. The reflector panels on the helicopter made them equally difficult to catch between the clouds and the setting sun. It didn’t stop the first blasts from streaking through their airspace, just close enough to give them cause to worry. They retreated farther into the cloud coverage, to little effect.

     “I’m going to have to drop you here.” Coulson shouted between the explosions, the echoes reverberating between the edges of the peaks below “Can’t get any closer.”

     “Thanks for the lift, agent.”

     “Captain, it was my genuine pleasure.”

     Thor beat Iron Man out of the helicopter with a mirthful laugh.

     Tony stopped, looking out after him. He turned back over his shoulder. “Can you believe this guy?” He said from within the suit. “What a showoff.” The suit revved again, this time accompanied by a recording of the sounds of heavy bass and drums and a screaming electric guitar.

     Iron Man and Thor attracted the attention of the guns, dodging explosions with ease, while Hawkeye, Black Widow, and the Captain threw ropes from the helicopter and began the climb, first down to the mountain and then up to the base. The diversion was effective in staving off the brunt of the outer defenses. From a safe distance, Hawkeye fired an explosive arrow to disable the lock on the doors. Once the smoke cleared, Steve barreled ahead, smashing through what was left.  
     They were in.

   
Bucky

     He left the apartment fueled by fire. The images from the sketchbook stained his eyes and no matter how much he tried he could not blink them away. HYDRA had taken everything from Bucky—his mind, his body, his agency, and his home. Aleksander Lukin dropped him off at the door to his past, not to show Bucky his memories, but to show Bucky the absolute control that his handler held. He walked into the trap without a second thought, and the knowledge that he let it happen ate Bucky alive. Sick with rage, he stopped in the hallway, leaning his shoulder heavily against the wall. He closed his eyes.  
  
     “Need to think.” He told himself. “Need to breathe.”  
  
     Outside of the stuffy, cramped rooms that used to be his, breathing was easier. His eyes scanned the hallway, the dark wood floor scratched from years of unrelenting boots. He used to walk this hall without a second thought. He could do it again.

_Steve walked ahead of him. He always let Steve go first, in all things. The heat and humidity of June was just starting to get to them. Bucky felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck. The elevator was busted again, and although they only lived on the third floor, he watched Steve carefully once they hit the landing. The asthma was rough, but Steve knew how to handle it. It was his heart that Bucky worried about. That heart worked hard. Sometimes he swore he could hear it from across the room it beat so loudly._   
_Steve had given him other reasons to worry, though. The fights he picked in the schoolyard never gave way to other pursuits when he got older. He kept fighting and never stayed down. Today, he was sporting a swollen eye from a solid right hook. It was already starting to go purple._   
_“We’ll get a steak on that eye and you’ll be all set to go dancing tomorrow night.” Bucky said, slapping Steve on the back. He didn’t let his hand linger, no matter how much he wished he could._   
_“What’s my eye gonna do with a steak? I’m going to eat it, Buck. How many times are we going to have steak this year, you think?” He said, laughing._

     The sound of Steve’s laughter rang in Bucky’s  ears as the memory faded from his eyes. They had been here, and Steve had laughed, and Bucky had been close enough to touch him. It did not matter what had happened to them since. That knowledge was good enough to keep him going. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, for old time’s sake.

 

 _Steve_  
  
     Assembling in the narrow entry way, they felt like sitting ducks. They moved along quickly, ten eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings.  
  
     “Well, we made it.” Tony said, voice echoing off the concrete walls, his words escaping his mouth in a cloud of vapor.  
  
     “We’re not going to make it much farther if we don’t find out where we are headed.” Clint said. He kept an arrow notched, just to stay on the safe side.  
  
     “It’s not like they post directories.” Tony said.  
  
     A guard turned the corner and spotted them. He froze, gun clattered to the floor. Natasha smiled over her shoulder at the men behind her as she made for the guard. The scene reminded Steve of the last seconds of footage of lionesses and gazelles, after the chase was over. “Oh yes, they do.” She said. This kid didn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell.   
  
     “Maximum security. Which level?” She asked. The guard was on his back, his gun safely Clint’s hands. Natasha’s thighs applied just enough pressure to the guard’s windpipe to keep him gasping for breath.  
  
     “Third.” He said, voice raspy. Natasha patted him on the head in a comforting gesture, and then twisted her body with vicious grace, leaving him unmoving on the floor.  
  
     The men watched the scene in front of them play out, each masking the disturbed expression drifting onto their faces with varying levels of success. It occurred to Steve, not for the first time, that behind the lightning, the serum, and the suits, Black Widow was the most lethal of them all. She had the name for a reason. She straightened without a second glance at the guard and pointed toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

  
 _Bucky_  
  
     His feet carried him through the streets without thought, like sleepwalking. He imagined a very different soldier, his last night at home, wandering familiar streets at night, saying goodbye. It felt real to him in that familiar way that so many strangers and broken buildings did. He dragged his fingers along the rough bricks of a building and felt the sting behind his nose, at the back of his throat. Remembered the way he would not let the tears well up in his eyes. _He had hugged someone goodbye and called him names_. It felt like it happened minutes go.  
     It had happened to someone else a lifetime ago and it had happened to him and it was still happening to him.  
     The synapses fired over such a long time in his mind.

     He blinked and Bucky was standing in front of a building that he remembered from a very different lifetime. The reflective dark glass of the doors showed him his own face, staring back with lifeless eyes. Limp strands of hair dangled before him, his head bowed slightly as if ready to charge. He tore his gaze from the hollow eyes in the door and opened it with all the force of his bionic arm.

    “Soldier.”   
   
     He knew the voice that called him from across the room. Slowly, with intention, he turned over his left shoulder to face Aleksander Lukin.  
  
     “Have you returned?”  
  
     Bucky swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Here I am.” He said.

     Inside the complex, three basements below the bustling streets, all was quiet and still as death. He followed Lukin, restraining the urge to reach out and twist his neck right there. It would be easy, but not satisfying. They reached his room, the room where the Soldier—where Bucky—had been unmade and stitched back together more times than he could count. There were dozens of these reporting stations stashed away, under barracks in France, beneath a prison in Siberia, in a vault in D.C., and here. He learned quickly that it didn’t matter where he was; nobody was coming to help him.  
Now he was here to help himself.  
       
     Lukin caught the defiance in the set of Bucky’s jaw, the way he swung his arms as he walked. He lowered himself into a chair, eyes on the soldier’s with measured calm.  
     “Did you find what you were looking for?” Lukin asked.  
  
     “At the apartment, sir?” Bucky replied.  
  
     “Yes, soldier. It cost nearly as much to maintain that piece of real estate as it has to maintain you. Let’s hope it’s done us some good.”  
  
     “Yes, sir.” Bucky said.  
  
     Lukin’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Have a seat.” He said.  
   
     “Tell me, Soldier, about your time with the enemy.”  
  
     Bucky did not respond. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the blood in his veins pump faster making whooshing sounds in his ears. His molars ground together from the force of keeping his words inside his mouth.  
  
     “That was an order, Solder.” Lukin said, complete composure written on his face. He fidgeted with a blue stone. Bucky had seen it before, although he could not recall when.  
He remembered the faint glow of it, saw it in his dreams sometimes.  
  
     “They were kind to me.” Bucky said. The words poured from his lips freely. “He was kind to me.”  
  
     Lukin’s face lit up with astonishment. “Your target?” He made a rapid _tisk_ sound with his tongue. “That won’t do, Soldier. Must I remind you of what you are?”  
  
     Bucky’s eyes shot wide with fear.

 

  
 _Steve_  
  
     The HYDRA base seemed to go on forever. It filled the mountain, twisting and turning, taking up all the space available to it. They took staircase after staircase and barreled through room after room, but the second level was massive. Steve wondered if they would ever find their way out.  
  
     Finally, miraculously, they found themselves at the foot of a door marked with the number three. Each person braced themselves for whatever lay on the other side, and then looked to Steve. He nodded once before pushing the door open.  
  
     Like most of the sparsely populated base, this room was unoccupied except for the rows upon rows of objects in glass cases. Weapons, armor, crystals, and priceless jewelry, lined up neatly, just waiting to be summoned for their sinister purpose. Screens and documents accompanied each piece with elaborate authenticity verification and tracking instructions. It was impressive and it was terrifying.  
  
     A voice, magnified several hundred times the normal volume blared at them from each screen. “Welcome Captain Steve Rogers. Natalia Romanova. Thor Odinson of Asgard. Agent Clint Barton. Tony Stark. I see you are admiring my collection. It is a shame I cannot show it to you in person.” Each of the screens in the room illuminated, displaying a man with an expression of satisfied enjoyment. He wore a smart grey suit, stood with his hands folded behind his back. Within the screen, just behind him, Bucky was strapped to a table. Steve felt the blood drain from his face. “I have my item favorite here with me.” The man went on, nodding over his shoulder toward Bucky.  
  
     “Thor,” Steve said, “find it.”  
  
     “Ah yes.” The man in the screen said, “the Sword of Freyr. You may find it, but it will do you very little good.” He smiled like a shark. “While you search, allow me to introduce myself, Captain. You may call me Aleksander Lukin. I have been hearing so many things about you, I feel as if we already know each other.” He paused to smile at Bucky again. “My, yes. Such things.” He shook his head disapprovingly, but the smile remained. “Tell me, Captain. Do you treat all your houseguests to such intimate entertainments?” Steve clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, deterermined not to endanger Bucky. “Or is it only the ones who mean to kill you?” Lukin continued. “Either way, I may have to come calling.”  
  
     “Cap,” Tony called from a couple of rows away “We found the Sword.”

 

  
 _Bucky_  
  
     I can’t move Bucky thought, desperation sinking into his limbs. _Steve, I can’t move. You’ve got to believe me. I am trying.  
_ He saw Steve’s face in the monitor. Lukin angled it so that he could watch while he taunted him. It was a new kind of torture and it was working.  
  
 _I shouldn’t have come. I needed backup. I thought I could do it on my own but I was so wrong. I am not strong enough. Steve, please._  
  
     Lukin’s voice cut through the diatribe in Bucky’s mind. “You made him weak, but through the Sword, the Soldier will become the weapon he once was.”  
  
    “That is never going to happen.” Steve said. His voice remained steady, but Bucky knew the fire there, buried just under that layer of ice.  
  
     They watched as Steve strode through the chamber to the place where the Sword of Freyr was kept. Thor stood guard over it. “Captain,” He said “The Sword of Freyr is a dangerous weapon. It may fight you.”  
  
     “That’s a chance I am willing to take.” Steve said. He pressed the button, raising the glass barrier. The moment Steve’s fingers grasped the hilt of the Sword, the screen was flooded with golden light. They heard Thor’s laugh. “He is worthy! The Captain can wield this weapon.” The light dimmed, leaving Steve with a faint glow.  
  
     Bucky looked to Lukin whose composure was shaken only slightly, his smile still fixed in place. He turned over his shoulder once more, staring Bucky down and Bucky felt a jolt shake through his body. He writhed on the table, feeling the static run through him. It was pain and it was power. His fists clenched and unclenched, head turned from side to side. He heard Steve shout his name, but it sounded far away, as if he were under water.  
  
     He emerged just as suddenly as he went under, with a new sense of calm; with purpose. For the first time in a long time, he understood what he was, and what he was meant to do.  
  
    Lukin faced him, holding his arms out in a gesture of fondness. “Ah, that’s better!”  
  
 _Better._  
  
 _Better._  
  
 _Better._  
  
     The word rang in his ears. Better was all he wanted to be when he sought Steve out, when he felt his allegiance shift, when he fought to learn the truth of who he was. And now he was here, and he was better.  
  
     Lukin returned his attention to the screen. “There were safeguards on the Sword, Captain. I am afraid you will find that activating it has put you in a bit of a predicament. The Soldier is complete now, as are the defenses of the base in which you currently stand. When you try to leave, you will face a full arsenal powered by the very weapon you have just attempted to steal.”  
  
     As Lukin spoke, Bucky broke his restraints, feeling them shatter with the barest effort. Lukin turned directly into Bucky’s vicelike grip.  
  
     “Soldier?” He asked. Bucky shook his head. “Let me go.” He said, the command coming out strong. Lukin’s hand wrestled in his pocket for something. “I order you to let me go.”  
Panic flared in his voice. Amusement danced across Bucky’s features, his mouth tucked into a smile. He shook his head again.  
  
     “Do you remember your conditioning?” Lukin asked.  
  
     “Of course I do.” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows, taken aback.  
  
     “Солнце всегда устанавливает в том же месте. Вернуться к нам.” Lukin said, his voice breaking.  
  
     “You will have to do better than that.” Bucky said, grabbing Lukin’s shirtfront in his mechanical hand and pushing him against the wall. Lukin stumbled backward at the force of Bucky’s movements, fishing the blue stone from his pocket.  
  
     “Солнце всегда устанавливает в том же месте. Вернуться к нам.” He said again, more desperately.  
  
     Bucky laughed, lifting him off the ground.  
  
     “The sun always sets in the same place.” Lukin said, hoping English would make a better impression.  
  
     “No,” Bucky replied, defiantly. “It doesn’t. The sun sets in a million different places to a million different people.” He twisted the cloth in his fist, pulling Lukin closer to him. “I am a different person now.” He snarled in Lukin’s ear. “I am not your weapon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry-- no spoilers here, but I promise to get Bucky and Steve back together soon, one way or another!


	10. Better, At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky complete their missions and come home.

_Bucky_  
  
      “I am not your weapon.”   
  
      He was so much more than that. He was a soldier, an orphan, a nameless wandering shadow, a best friend, and a broken man. On their own, each of these people could be dangerous, but combined inside of one he had brought about the collapse of empires. Bucky saw with satisfaction that Lukin was shaking. The power surging through him lent Bucky a new kind of strength. Steve’s strength. The power to take the upper hand, but not to use it to destroy—at least, not if he didn’t have to.  
  
      He set Lukin down. It was not gentle, but it was unmistakable mercy. The fist bunched in his clothing relaxed and dropped. Bucky turned to the monitors, back to Steve. Their eyes met through the connection, across the miles. Steve still shone, shimmering in the light flickering through him from the Sword. He held it like an extension of his arm. They smiled at each other, feeling for the first time the wonder of it all—not just survival but invention and magic. This world had so much to offer them both if they wanted it. This world had offered them each other.   
  
      Bucky saw Steve’s eyes widen, the warning written on his features, the words not yet formed. He turned to see Lukin standing behind him. His fist was raised, the blue stone glowing, pulsing, in his hand. He wore a manic expression, crazed and desperate.   
  
      Bucky struck. Fist collided with fist. Lukin was stronger and faster than a human opponent should have been, but Bucky was driven by the Sword. He moved without thinking. His blows landed exactly, with just the right amount of force. He fought as if he were in a dance, his mind spinning ahead of his body. If he had dreamt it, he could not have felt this alive. The smile he shared with Steve had not left his face.  
  
      Lukin watched Bucky from his back, staring up at the man for the first time.   
  
      “Oh my little toy soldier,” He said, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth “You are more mine than you have ever imagined.”   
  
      “Not anymore.” Bucky said, shaking his head slowly. He was in control and it would stay that way.  
  
       “Then finish it.” Lukin said.   
  
      Bucky dropped to the ground next to Lukin’s body with fluid ease. He grasped Lukin’s head almost tenderly and allowed the Sword to work through him once more.

 

 _Steve_  
  
      He felt Bucky fight. Their minds connected in a new way and Steve felt his presence there as if they we beside each other. He watched Bucky move on the monitor, but knew what would happen before the blows connected.   
  
      “Cap.” He heard Tony say, the voice sounded far off. There was a disconnect.   
  
      “Excuse me. Captain Rogers.” JARVIS spoke instead. Steve’s attention was drawn like a magnet.  
  
      “Yes. Of course. Sorry.” He said to both JARVIS and Tony within the suit. The suit was mesmerizing—he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “What is it?”

      “Only the world’s supply of WMDs aimed directly at this base. Nothing to worry about.” Tony said, nodding at a large screen above their heads, projecting the image of many, many threats looming from every corner of the globe. “You activated the Sword. Or, the Sword activated you. You got some action anyway. It looks like whatever programing made Comrade America go ballistic over there,” he flicked a hand toward the screen displaying Bucky “also locked a hell of a lot of international weapons onto us.”   
  
      “Do you have a plan?” Hawkeye asked, looking toward the vents in the ceiling.  
  
      “What does the Sword tell you to do?” Thor asked, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s eyes locked on Mjolnir. For all the time he had spent around it, with it, he had never really noticed the intricacy of it. Mjolnir was beautiful. Steve shook his head to clear it.    
  
      “I think I can stop them.” Steve said.  
  
       “Better do it fast, Cap.” Tony said, looking back at the screen.   
  
      Steve reached out with the Sword. It pulsed through him and thousands of miles away he could feel the turn of steel as it shifted into position. He felt the movement of missiles speeding toward them from across oceans like the wind was blowing across his own face. He pushed, pulled, turned in his mind, reached out with limbs that were not his, and spoke a language of code and electricity and explosives.   
He was part of the machine.  
  
       “I bought us some time.” Steve said. The screen reflected the truth of his words. The incoming missiles had disappeared from the map.   
  
       “Coulson’s on standby. If you can hold off the base’s defenses, I can call him in.” Natasha said. Steve nodded, reaching out again, not far this time. He tugged at the central ball of nerves holding the base together and felt the weapons shudder under his mind. The sword was warm in his hand, familiar.   
  
        “We’re good. Call him in.” Steve said.   
  
        At the exit, they found a handful of guards. Each dropped to the floor with an arrow jutting from their bodies before Tony, Thor, Steve, or even Natasha could react. From the rafters behind them, Clint dropped to the ground, himself. As he joined them at the door, he patted Steve on the shoulder.   
  
      “Knew you brought me along for a reason, Cap.”

 

 

 _Bucky  
  
_       The body did not stir beneath him, all odd angles and limp tissue. Bucky felt something break in the corner of his mind like the snap of a fraying thread. It felt freeing rather than painful, like cracking shackles that bound his wrists for too long. His eyes scanned Lukin’s face, finding no response to the feeling that something was different. Underneath him, Lukin continued to lie quite still.   
  
      As he rose from the floor, Bucky saw the stone roll from the flaccid fingers of his handler. The blue contrasted against the grey of the ground, calling to him, hypnotic. His hand closed around it, feeling the weight. It was so heavy.   
  
      He ran, not daring to risk the elevator, up and up and up flights of stairs. He clutched the stone, his pulse sinking into it with each beat of his heart, and with each heartbeat, the stone seemed to whisper back _I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.  
  
_       Bucky caught his breath at the top landing. He smoothed his hair back and felt the contraction and expansion of his chest as he took great lungfulls of air. Composing his face into an expression of detachment, he stepped into the lobby of the building and became another bee in the hive. The security clearance level in the lower basements was a double-edged sword; they would not find the body for hours, maybe even days. Bucky would be long gone by then.   
  
      Stepping into daylight brought the reality of his survival home in a new way. He walked into the HYDRA base a dead man. He was walking out again as a free man. Bucky let the air wash over his face, walking home.   
  
_Bucky  
  
_ He felt rather than heard Steve’s voice resonate through him.  
  
 _Yes? Steve?_  He thought in reply. Had the murder finally thrown him off the deep end? Was he hearing things again? There had been times, he remembered them more clearly than ever, when he heard Steve’s voice before. Lukin had scrubbed every trace of his memory away when he reported hallucinations.   
This was more substantial than those ghosts of Steve’s voice in Bucky’s shattered consciousness. This was a solid feeling reverberating throughout his very being.   
  
       Steve answered back. _You can hear me! Good! We’re on the way to you.  
  
       Where are you? _Bucky asked, silently in his mind.   
  
_In a helicopter over New York State. We’re headed for the city. Where are you?  
_  
      Bucky knew the dangers of staying too close to a kill. He wouldn’t stay where he was.   
  
_I’ll be at the Brooklyn Bridge._  

      Bucky walked and Steve flew and although the distance stood between them, they found themselves in each other’s company in a way they never could have been before. Rather than intruding on the other’s mind, they found a common space to occupy. Feeling Steve there, in a sense of safety and comfort, Bucky slipped into the memories as he walked. With each footfall, he became someone new.   
Lost and angry, without a mission, a rabid dog ready to bite. Memory wiped. Blank slate. Cold.  
These memories flooded him and it was all he could do to put one foot down in front of the other, to keep walking.   
_  
I’m with you, Buck._ Steve said. _You’re going to the Bridge. Keep going.  
  
_ Bucky nodded, knowing that Steve would sense it, even if he could not see him. He felt himself slip into other selves, other Buckys.   
Sure, confident. He was all that stood between order and chaos and it was up to him to create the right world. A strong hand on his back guided him toward his target. He would take this one out just like all the hundreds, thousands, before. Triggers pulled, triggers pulled, triggers pulled. He was good at his work and his work was good. Even in the memory he felt the thrill of it.  
  
Then the faces. The dead. A pair of pink shoes, small enough for a child, empty but for the blood. He saw the burnt bodies, the empty beds, the hollow shells of buildings and busses. This was his world, the one that he built.   
_  
     Bucky. _Steve’s voice cut him off.   
  
He saw mountains, whirling around him, snow and ice and falling. The sensation of dropping, swooping. It hit him low in the gut and his arm ached in a way he had not felt in many long decades.  
It felt human.  
  
He remembered. The memories glided together, shifting to form a whole. In his mind, pieces dragged themselves from slivers of thought into a panoramic scene. He was surrounded by his life as it once was. He saw Steve, broad and tall. He saw himself, strong like he once was. He remembered how they fought together, how they fit together.   
It went back further, to the cold before the cold; before the war, before the bodies, before the needles and the pain and the metal.   
  
Finally, Bucky’s mind settled on a thought, permanent and steady: Peppermint, the smell of it grounding him and filling his mind. It smelled like Steve, like his breath and his warmth.  
 __  
Hang on, Bucky. Steve thought in Bucky’s mind.  
  
       Bucky reached the Brooklyn Bridge and walked along it. He felt memory without nostalgia. He had walked these steps before, but he did not feel the longing he once had, only the knowledge that this place was his and always had been. He scaled the tower easily, finding some peace in the climb. Moving up, away from the crowd and the cars gave his mind room to rest. He sat down, arms curled around one knee, the other leg dangling off the side of the tower, and waited. Bucky heard the helicopter before he saw it.

 _There you are,_ came Steve’s voice in his head. Steve landed next to him, still holding the Sword. Bucky watched him from where he sat. 

      “Hey stranger.” 

      “Hi Bucky.” Steve said, taking a seat close enough that their shoulders touched. They sat together in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other’s company.   
  
      “Listen, Steve,” Bucky said, at last, watching carefully for his reaction “I felt you in my brain. That sword did a real number on me, but I knew it was you in there. What I need to know is, could you see it? I mean, could you see everything that I saw?”  
  
      Steve took Bucky’s hand in his and held it tight. “I felt it.” He said, thumb caressing the back of Bucky’s hand. “I felt what you felt.” He let go of Bucky’s hand and reached for his jaw, cupping it with gentle force, bringing their lips together.

What he meant was _It’s okay. I already knew what you went through and what you did. That isn’t who you are and even though I’ve seen it through your own eyes and your own mind I don’t care._  
I know you.   
I love you.   


      Bucky heard him and kissed back. 

      They stayed there on top of the one of the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge, overlooking their home until the wind got rough. 

      Standing, Bucky caught the orange light of the sunset in the blade of the sword and smiled to himself. “You always wanted one of those.” 

      “Who didn’t?” Steve asked. “I’m going to have to give it back to Thor, though.” He shrugged. 

       “That’s a shame.” Bucky said. 

       “I don’t mind.” Steve said, brushing his knuckles against the back of Bucky’s hand. “I got something better than a sword today.”   
  
      "Yeah, me too.” Bucky said, grasping Steve’s hand. His mind wandered to the blue stone in his pocket and the effort that it took to obtain it.    
  
      “What did you get?” Steve asked, curious.  
  
      Bucky tucked the thought of the stone away to save for another conversation and answered “I got better.” He leaned in to kiss Steve again. The press of lips against lips drowned out the roaring sound of Bucky’s memories. Like the stone, the memories could wait. Their lips parted and Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s.   
Bucky smiled and said “I got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredible gratitude to all my readers.   
> The blue stone that Lukin uses to manipulate Buck's memories in this fic is the Mind Gem (one of the Infinity Gems). I wanted a change from the traditional cosmic cube narrative, so I borrowed the Infinity Gems instead.


End file.
